Tearing Down The Walls
by NeniioN
Summary: Due to an odd series of events, you somehow manage to befriend Quinn Fabray, who turns out to be far more intriguing than anyone ever gave her credit for. Only you didn't grow into this friendship platonically. One thing leads to another, and soon you find yourself slipping. So severely even that it changes everything for everyone. Rachel POV. S3. M for eventual smuttiness.
1. Intro Stage

It's happened before.

You remember the time when, during cheerios practice, you were mesmerized by her figure. How it would twirl in midair, only to be caught by some insignificant figures before graciously leaping to its feet again. Everything she does seems to come so easy for her, and it makes you ache with jealousy.

At least, that's the box you're putting your feelings for Quinn in. Jealousy. Because, honestly, what else could it be? She's tortured you for as long as you can remember. You always used to fight about Finn, who would get him in the end. It was always either you or her. You figure it is because of that figure, that body she's got that makes everything just so much easier for her.

You've never been pretty like her. You'll never be either. But that's life, isn't it? Doing the best you can with what life's given you. In your case, it's your sheer talent. In hers, it's the body that she has been given.

That smile that's able to light up the room. The natural air of superiority that wafts around her. There's no denying it, whenever she walks through the hallways, the sea of students parts for her like the red sea did for Moses. It's incredible, really.

But most of all, it's her eyes. Their deep hazel, decorated with a touch a green. You can gaze into those eyes forever if she let you. But of course, she wouldn't.

She's Quinn Fabray.

And you're Rachel Berry. And that's something not even your talent will be able to conquer.

So the name you give the feelings you get whenever you're watching her is jealousy. And right now, you're feeling it intensely.

You're standing at your locker, changing your books for next period, when you feel the students part. They bump into you, but move as soon as they realize the person they're bumping into is in fact Rachel Berry. You tend to have that effect on people. They move away from you, but not in the way they do for Quinn. They move because they don't want to be seen with McKinley's biggest loser, and you don't even blame them. It's not their fault, after all. They don't know any better. They know that if they're seen being friendly with you, they'll be targets for the infamous slushies from that moment on. So they move away from you.

After this particularly large kid has recognized you from a glance over his shoulder, and he practically throws himself to the locker next to you, you can see her. She's parading through the hallways like always, hands firmly on her hips, chin high, eyes cold. She's being flanked by Santana and Brittany, also nothing new.

You feel yourself press yourself flat to your locker, trying to be as invisible you can manage. You tense up, preparing for a cleverly hidden slushie, pressing your books flat to your chest, inhaling deeply and eyeing the unholy trinity as they walk by.

Just before they pass you, your eyes lock on Quinn's.

It's weird, you expected it to come accompanied by feelings of anxiety, utter fear and intimidation, but instead, you feel nothing. Her eyes, cold as they are, lock on yours and you feel she recognizes you, recognizes you as a person. She shows no emotion, but long after she's passed, you're still pressed up against your locker with your books tightly against your chest.

Nothing happened.

No vicious words, no casual insults, nothing.

You smile to yourself. Lately, you've noticed, the insults and violence have become much less frequent, and every time you're reminded of it by occasions like the one that just was, you can't help but smile to yourself like some kind of dork. Because it's a sign of friendship. Not a friendship one would regularly consider to be a friendship at all, but in the world of Quinn and Rachel, not receiving insults means a lot.

You've been getting closer lately. Once again, not the way regularly happens, but still. She smiles at you during glee, and she doesn't turn you down when you go and talk to her. Not when it's just the two of you, at least. Turns out, she actually wants to hear your thoughts, and on occasion, she even listens to your advice.

She didn't tell Figgins about Shelby and Puck, and afterwards, she even visited to thank you for stopping her. What surprised you most of all, though, was when she asked you about Yale, and actually _wanted_ to hear what you thought of it. It was something she had never done before. Yes, you've given her advice before, but it was never that she specifically _asked_ for you to give advice. You just did. Out of concern for her.

This thought makes your smile falter, and changes your expression in one of slight confusion. _Why_ is it, that you've always felt so concerned about her. _Why_ would you feel concerned about someone's well-being, when that someone has made your life a living hell for the last few years? There's always been something about her that makes it simply _impossible_ for you to be mean to her.

You figure it's because you feel for her, getting pregnant at sixteen, getting disowned by her own family, all of the effort she made to build a reputation _gone_, in a matter of seconds.

You've never seen her as a bitch, just someone who is truly _lonely_. Not alone, because someone can be alone, and be perfectly content with it, but lonely. You can see it in her eyes. That's where their chill comes from. You've only so many times seen warmth in them, and you find yourself feeling obligated to do everything in your power to make them shine with that warmth again, because you _know_ you can.

You know, because all those times her eyes had shone, you had been there to cause it.

It's hard though. It's hard because you can't seem to read her. You've never had any trouble with reading people, most of them are like open books to you, but Quinn, Quinn's different.

Finn used to say it; you never know what she's really feeling, because she never shows any of it. You know it's true. Her walls are huge. She's created this thick, unscratchable wall around her, defending her against anything foreign, believing that as long as her walls are up, nothing bad can happen to her. What she doesn't know, is that those walls are also what's keeping her from enjoying life. They don't let any emotions out, but they don't let any in either.

They make her cold.

When you make your way to class, you remind yourself of your promise to somehow break those walls. Somehow, you'll get through to her. You have to, because you swore to make her see how wonderful she can be. After all, she can't see it herself. It's an unspoken promise, but it's there. It's there every time you look at her, every time you lay eyes on her cold ones, knowing how they can shine.

It's a promise that has been always been there, even subconsciously, because there's no other explanation for your need to see her smile.

Except for maybe the fact that her smile makes you slightly giddy, though that is something you still have trouble admitting to yourself.

After all, you're with Finn. You love him, you always have.

Yes, he can be plain stupid sometimes, but you could never manage to blame him, not with that dopey, apologetic smile of his. You could never _not_ feel affection for him, because he deserves it. He's probably the sweetest guy you've ever met, and his unquestionable loyalty never fails to make you smile. You want the best for him, you really do, and you're sure you _do_ love him.

He just never had the ability to make you feel giddy.

In glee that day, Finn takes his usual place next to you, but you don't really notice. Instead, you notice Santana and Brittany sitting close as ever, their fingers entwined, their heads lowered, trying not to draw any attention as they whisper to one another. You can't make out what they're saying, but their smiles give away that it must be something incredibly sweet.

You avert your gaze, and stare at your knees instead. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Finn sitting with his elbows on his knees, which are at lease a three foot away from each other, and you secretly wish he would be so sweet, for once. He's a sweet guy, but other than his puppy dog eyes, he hardly shows any affection. Ever. Well, you kiss and everything, but as his nickname Finncompetent suggests, it wouldn't hurt for him to get any better at it. Seeing your blank stare, he ducks his head to try and make eye-contact. You realise he must be talking to you, and you zone back.

"- you know, and Puck just ran up to him and tackled him to the ground. You should have been there, it was spectacular. The guy was so afraid I seriously thought he might be shitting his pants. He wasn't really, you know, but still."

You have absolutely no idea what he's talking about, why would Puck tackle anyone?

You search your memory. As far as you know, they didn't have practice today, so that can't have been it. But that means Puck would have tackled someone in the hallways. You know he _used_ to do that, but you thoroughly believed those days were behind him.

"- seriously, I get where he's coming from. If anyone has said something like that to you, if you'd been through what she's been through, I would have lost it as well. I mean, after she got kicked out and all, who would even think of calling her a cheap whore?"

The shock hits you like a wave, crashing down on you, forcing all the air out of your lungs, rendering you unable to breathe for a minute.

He's talking about Quinn. After everything she's been through, there are still people harassing her.

It makes you sick.

It makes you want to run out of the room and go find her. You're not listening to what Finn is saying any more, you just want to get out of there.

Then, a flutter of gold catches your attention, and you turn to see Quinn entering the room before sitting down an a chair on the first row, on the other side of the room. Puck comes barging in immediately after, his brows low over his eyes. Frankly, he just looks terrifyingly intimidating.

Quinn on the other hand just sits there, hands folded in her lap, her expression blank. It unsettles you, twists some of your insides, watching her all locked up in her armor of indifference.

Mr Schue enters the room, and all the attention that was just projected toward the two that just came storming in is now shifted to the man writing on the whiteboard.

You keep your eyes on Quinn for a couple more seconds, and for the second time today her eyes meet yours. For some reason you jump. You had not expected her to actually look back at you.

You force a small, comforting smile and watch how something in the hazel shifts. She herself hasn't moved, not a finger, and her eyes stay on yours, but something _inside_ her moved, and you saw it happen. The knowledge, or more the affirmation that she needs someone to care for her causes a real, genuine smile to tug on the corners of your mouth, and you gladly let it make its appearance. You contain it though, this is not the moment for one of your beaming smiles, so you just nod at her, very subtly, before turning your attention to Mr Schue.

Your insides feel light. You know now for certain that a friendship is being built between you and Quinn, and the thought of that alone makes your heart swell


	2. Revelation

The bell rings, and everyone starts making their way out of the classroom. Mr Schue, tries to shout some last reminders about the assignment over the noise of the halls flooding with students, but no-one even tries to hear what he's saying. If you're honest, you don't even have any idea what the assignment for next week _is._ That shouldn't be a problem though, knowing Finn, he'd never figure out what to do and come running to you for help. You'll hear what the assignment was then.

For now, you have other priorities.

You try to keep an eye on the head of blonde as it leaves the room, even before you've fully risen from your chair, but the room and halls getting crowded and your height make that an as good as impossible task. You wrinkle your nose in disappointment and make your way to Finn when you see him standing in the doorway, waiting for you.

You'll find her during lunch.

* * *

When she catches your eye again later that day, your eyes meet once more, and you can't help but wonder what is going on. There's been an awful lot of eye-contact lately. Not that you mind, it means she's actually _wanting_ your attention, and you simply cannot let such a rare opportunity pass you by.

The halls are slowly drained from the way too many people that try to make it to their next class, in their efforts causing slight chaos. It's not a bad chaos though. In freshman year, when the bullying was at its worst, it most often was this kind of chaos that spared you most of the attacks. Thanks to your height (probably the only time you'd actually been grateful for your shortness) you were able to simply disappear in the crowd, thus rendering efforts to slushie you before classes practically impossible. The chaos gives you a sense of safety, you find it calming, even though this year, there've been hardly any slushies at all.

Can't ever be too careful though, can you?

You quietly blend into the crowd, never taking your eyes off the taller blonde about fifteen feet away from you. It slips into a bathroom, and you wait around a bit until you see someone else coming out. That happens almost immediately, Quinn has that effect on people. You don't know whether it's out of respect, fear or dissent that people tend to leave her alone, but you don't really mind. It gives you security as well.

After all, most of the times you try to talk to Quinn because _you_ search her out, things tend to get… intense.

You can't read her, you never could, so you're always at a loss when it comes to talking to Quinn, whether it concerns glee, persuasion or slight pressuring her into letting you in. This, sadly enough, most of the times result into a heated discussion put to an end by either one of you getting so frustrated with the other that they walk away.

As much as a drama queen you are, that kind of attention is unwanted; it could only result in something you'll find yourself concerned about.

So when the door closes again, you stride toward it and push it open again.

She's standing at the sinks, fixing something on her face you can't figure out, you never find anything on her face that needs fixing, yet here she is, fixing something on her face. She sees you in the mirror, looks at you for a second or two, then averts her gaze to the sink and purses her lips, before standing up straight, slightly quirking one of her brows. It's such typical behavior that you find yourself smiling softly.

She keeps her eyes low as she turns away from the mirror, resting both her hands on the sink and leaning against it before she looks at you. She doesn't say anything though, she waiting for you to, so you take a breath and stand up straight.

"I heard someone -"

"I know what you heard. Of course I know, there's no way Finn wouldn't have told you. And I'm fine. I got used to it quite a while ago, so it doesn't hurt anymore. And Puck took care of him, but I guess you heard that as well?"

Her response is immediate, and you're taken aback by the edge on her voice.

"I didn't mean to offend you, I'm just trying to show some genuine concern."

She snorts and rolls her eyes at you. She's stopped looking at you, and you feel like she's ignoring you, like anything you say doesn't matter, no matter _what _ it is you'll say. You feel rejected, and it stings.

Something inside of you flares up, and you lift your chin, straightening your posture.

"Also, yes, I know as good as everything that happened to you, though I have to admit, not in detail. I am only aware of what generally took place earlier today. I furthermore do not believe that insults like these do not hurt you in the slightest."

Her eyes shoot up to yours, daring you to continue speaking. It's quite intimidating, but you _know_, or at least thoroughly believe, that she needs someone to speak to, someone who know what it's like, and that person so happens to be you, so she'll have to deal with it.

Also, the fire in your chest is still burning, filling you with stubbornness.

"I have gone through what you've been through, what you're going through today, for years, so I know what it does to a person. Yes, it gets easier after a while, but the pain never goes away. The insults still hurt, the slushies are still ice-cold. I know what it's like, so don't tell me I'm wrong, I've experienced it first-hand."

You're out of breath, turns out you're actually able to say all of that in one breath only. Quite the achievement, but for now, you're just out of breath. You're still standing in the middle of the bathroom, chest heaving, eyes fixed on hers, daring _her_ to tell you you're wrong, dragon in your chest helping the fire.

You stare at one another for what feels like hours, but probably are only a second or ten, neither of you moving a muscle. Then Quinn breaks the spell. You see her yaw set, her eyes look away from you as she shifts her weight. The fire stills, and you feel like you're pulled out of a daze you didn't even know you were in.

"Don't tell me what to do, Rachel." She sounds softer now. Not defeated, but no longer resisting you either. You're satisfied with the situation as it is.

You move and settle yourself next to her, in a somewhat identical position, hands on the sink for support, eyes looking at nothing on the floor or your shoes, and relax.

"I'm not." You let the words linger between the two of you for a moment.

"I'm just trying to tell you that I know." You look at her now. "I know, and you can talk to me."

You put a hand on her upper arm, and duck your head to try and meet her eyes. She slyly locks on you from the corner of her eye and you grant her a small smile.

"Don't shut me out, is all."

When she still doesn't reply, you add "Whenever you're ready."

Then you get off the sink and turn to leave. As you move away from her, your hand trails a couple of inches down her arm. You feel the fabric of her cardigan move beneath your fingers, feel the ripples intensify as you move down, because she pulled up her sleeves up to her elbows.

When the contact breaks, you let go of a breath you didn't know you were holding, slowly, not quite daring to let it go. It's like you feel there's some meaning to that breath, and when you let it go, it will take along its meaning and disappear with it. You can't let that happen, not before you've figured out exactly _what_ it's meaning is.

You're unable to place it though, so you let it go anyway.

As you push open the door and exit the bathroom, your stomach makes its way up to your lungs, and nestles itself there cosily. It doesn't belong there though, so it feels weird and you wish it would go back to its proper place in your body.

It doesn't.

It doesn't, and when you enter the classroom and mumble some excuse for why you're slightly late which you don't even remember when you sit down, it's still there.

You vaguely feel like you recognize this feeling, but you can't place it, resulting in inner conflict. One side of you wants your stomach to return to where it belongs so that the feeling will subside, another wants to figure out what you know this feeling from, therefor wants your stomach to stay there for just a little bit longer. You need time, it's only a matter of time.

It feels like you're trying to remember the dream you had last night, when you're sitting at the table, eating your breakfast; it's right there, but you can't quite reach it.

It frustrates you.

And it makes you unable to focus on what the teacher is trying to teach you, which frustrates you even more. It's going to be a long day.

No more talking to Quinn Fabray in the near future.

* * *

You're walking toward your car in the parking lot. It's already quite desolated, because you decided to sneak into the auditorium and play on the piano a little. It takes your mind off things, and you feel like you needed your mind taken off things. You feel calmer now, at peace even. You hum a song that you heard someone sing rather out of tune in the hallways, but you recognized it anyway and now it's stuck in your head.

You're searching for the keys in your bag while standing at the door of your car, it seems to have vanished magically into thin air, as most small objects seem to do when you need them; you see them lying around all day, but never really pay attention to them, because you don't ned them, but the moment you _do_ need them, they're gone. Vanished off the surface of the earth.

So you take everything out of your bag onto the roof of your car until you find the damned piece of metal. You pick out your wallet and open it. Hey, tiny objects have a tendency of creeping into the weirdest places imaginable. That's when a photo of Finn catches your attention. You've kept it in your wallet since you got together again, he has one of you as well.

This time, when you see it, your breathing stops. Finn. The boy that loves you unconditionally. The boy _you_ love. Or, that's what you thought.

Now, all that's on your mind is that feeling you've had all afternoon. You recognize it now. Like you suddenly remember your dream when you see or hear something that has a direct link to something that happened in your dream. This photo was your link. You remember what the feeling is.

You used to feel that exact same way when you first fell in love with Finn.

Everything stops. Along with your breathing, everything stops. You stand on the parking lot, photo of your boyfriend in your hand, completely oblivious to the rest of the world, and all that time there's only one thought whirling through your mind, like it's caught in a tornado, ripping everything inside apart, lifting it up and letting it fall down again.

_I am falling in love with Quinn._


	3. Truce

You're driving home, but you feel like you shouldn't be. Your head is completely chaotic, you can't focus on the road ahead of you, and your ratio keeps telling you that you're going to kill someone at some point if you don't pull over right this instant.

But you can't get yourself to pull over.

You need to get out of there. You need to get home, away from that school.

Away from those freaking _bathrooms_.

Seriously, what is is with the two of you and _bathrooms_? Every time there's you, Quinn and a bathroom, drama has already found you or is just about to find you. And this kind of drama is completely unwanted.

In a blur, you're home. You didn't even kill anyone, you're ever so slightly proud of yourself.

In a daze you grab your bag from the passenger's seat, make your way out of the car and onto the porch, into the house, up the stairs and into your room. You let the door fall closed behind you. The bag in your hand is falling toward the floor, and you have no idea where it's going to end up. Somewhere in your room. You'll find it.

You pull a beeline for your bed and crash down on it, face buried in your pillow.

The daze evaporates and all of a sudden a million different emotions are pressing your insides into a space that is just _too small_ for them.

You feel confused, desperate, helpless, and quite frankly, you just want to run away. You don't care where, just away. Out of Lima. Anywhere really. You need some air.

Dinner's awfully quiet that night. Your dads try to start a conversation with you, asking you how your day has been, but as soon as the word school, class or any name of someone in that school is used, your mind immediately backtracks to that moment in the bathroom.

You huff at yourself incredulously. It didn't even _mean_ anything.

Seriously, nothing happened, nothing! And here you are freaking out, not knowing what to do with yourself over the fact that you've been alone in a bathroom with Quinn Fabray. This has happened before, you've had multiple conversations in bathrooms.

_Get a grip._

Hiram looks at Leroy helplessly. He shrugs back, telling him that he does't know what to say anymore either. So they both turn to their food, occasionally throwing glances at you to make sure you're eating.

You are, honestly, you just don't feel so hungry. You mostly roll the beans over your plate, watching as they al eventually fall in the deeper part following the edges, resulting in a crescent moon of small, unevenly sized beans.

When you make your way upstairs to your room later that evening, you can feel two pairs of eyes locked on your back, following your every move. But you don't care. You have other things to worry about.

You once again crash down on your bed, and lay motionless for an undetermined period of time until your phone buzzes. You reluctantly let your head fall to your left and swat your arm to the phone, swiftly flipping it open.

It's Finn.

You groan. He's got impeccable timing.

You open the text.

**hey rach, look, i was wondering whether you'd want to go to breadstix with me on friday night. i'll pick you up at seven? X Finn**

Typical, he proposes an idea, and immediately after says when he will be picking you up. You think it's a sweet gesture though, and who knows, maybe it'll help you clear your head.

You nod to yourself, it's for the best. Everything that happened today was probably just some weird misunderstanding. With the NYADA applications coming up, you've had problems sleeping. It was probably just your tiredness talking.

_Hi Finn, I'd love to go to Breadstix with you this Friday. :) I'll see you tomorrow. Xx_

You snap your phone shut and practically throw it back onto your nightstand. You inhale deeply, rubbing the back of your palms into your eyes, and grunt. You let your arm fall back onto the bed by your sides and stare blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then you force yourself up, grab your sleeping shirt and a towel and make your way to the bathroom.

* * *

"Hey."

You look up from your locker. Finn is leaning against the locker next to you, is head slightly cocked to one side, and his dopey smile on. You smile back at him. "Hi Finn."

Then you turn back to your locker, grab the books for next period, clutch them tightly to your chest with one hand and slam the locker shut with your other.

Again you turn to face Finn, who was simply watching you, his halffaced smile never leaving. You lean your back against the cold metal and rest your head against it, looking up, waiting for Finn to say what he came by for.

"So, about Friday night," he begins, "I was thinking maybe we could like, you know, dress up a bit. I'll take you to the movies afterward. You know there is this new Sherlock Holmes thing, and I hear it's supposed to be really good. I thought maybe we could go see it together."

His cockiness has disappeared. Usually he says things with a certain tone, somewhat forcing whatever it is he wants to do on you, making it impossible for you to refuse, so you just kind of go with it.

This time, there's no cockiness. He looks at you softly, his eyes slightly closed, a small smile playing on his lips. You're reminded why you fell for him in the first place. He looks absolutely adorable.

He looks in love with you.

And it makes your heart tighten and swell at the same time.

You smile up at him and nod lightly.

"That sounds lovely," you tell him.

"Great," he grins, looking proud of himself. "I'll see you later, ok?"

"Yeah."

He smiles again and ducks his head to brush his lips over your cheek. Then he's gone.

Sherlock Holmes. Really? That was a choice you'd never have seen coming from Finn, of all people.

You roll your eyes and turn to make your way to class. In mid-twirl you catch a flash of gold and immediately your stomach churns. Once again, your insides are forced into a space way to small and your desire to run becomes almost overwhelming. But you stand your ground.

Without looking back you walk down the hall to your next class. No, you don't just walk, you march, you march away as fast as your tiny legs can carry you without attracting any unwanted attention.

It's not fast enough.

"Hey." A hand on your arm stops you in mid-step. The muscles in your stomach and neck tense, momentarily causing your breathing to be interrupted before continuing. As you turn around you focus on how exactly someone breathes. _How_ do you breathe again? It doesn't seem to work. Tiny gulps of air come irregularly, one larger than the other, and you try with everything that is a star in you to hide it.

Eventually you give up and you sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head invisibly.

The hand on your arm has retreated, giving you a little confidence back.

You look up, hazel eyes already studying you, an eyebrow quirked, asking the unspoken question of what just happened. You realize you must have looked like a complete dork, but you shake the feeling and raise your eyebrows as well, slightly challenging her.

"Quinn," you begin, "what is it?"

She straightens up, throwing quick glances across the hallway, then ducks her head as if she's slightly embarrassed. It's not often that she strikes such a pose, and you find yourself caught off guard by it. She's not in for any conflict today.

Suddenly a thought of the day before flashes through your head. _'No more talking to Quinn Fabray in the near future.'_ Well that resolve lasted.

You remember _why_ exactly it was you told yourself this, and you are overcome by the urge to keep to the plan and walk away. For self-protection. You can't have this right now. Not before it's been Friday and you've sorted at least some of your feelings out.

But Quinn looks at you shyly from under her brows, her head still ducked, fidgeting with her fingers and you can see she's biting her lip, though she's trying to keep it concealed, and you can't.

You can't leave her like this.

You've been wanting for her to accept you and to talk to you, and now that she is, she actually _really_ needs you. It'd be inhumane to walk away from her for anyone, let alone for Rachel Berry. She needs someone to talk to, you see it, and you believe it might finally be getting to Quinn as well.

She's in the beginning stages of opening up to you, and you cannot leave her right now.

You just can't.

So you breathe out slowly, slump out of your defensive position and tilt your head slightly, indicating that she can talk to you, that you will listen, and that you will help her.

The bell rings, and people start moving. Before you know it, people are rushing past you, bumping into you in their hurry to get to class.

You look around before redirecting your attention to the blonde in front of you, silently asking wether she still wants to talk, but the moment has passed, and you can see it in her eyes when she looks at you. She pulls at her eyebrows and squints her eyes slightly, silently telling you she's sorry before she walks past you, her arm brushing yours.

You're left standing in the middle of the chaos, people regularly bumping into you now that the former head cheerio is gone.

_Now that wasn't too bad, was it?_

_No, not awkward at all, I thought it would be.  
_

_Yeah, like _really_ awkward._

_But turns out it was actually kind of pleasant.  
_

_Maybe we can try our luck at just being friends, can't be that much of a problem, now, can it?_

_I suppose not. After all, she actually needs you._

_I know. Supportive friend it is._

_Supportive friend it is._

* * *

You can feel her looking at you.

You're sitting in the front row, fervently tailing notes, it _is _your senior year after all, and as much as you want to get into NYADA, before that, you'll first have to graduate. Not that that will be much of a problem, because you're safe in every sense of the word, but you can't slack off now.

But she's looking at you. And you can feel it.

You can feel her eyes piercing your back and it makes tour stomach churn. It makes you uncomfortable and you actually want to groan out loud from frustration.

You keep it in though.

Of course you keep it in. What'd that be, randomly groaning in the middle of class? It'd be ridiculous.

But the urge stays. It pokes at your lungs. It scratches at your stomach. It tears at your heart. And it's building up.

You raise your hand. Now all eyes are on you, but you don't care.

"May I go to the bathroom?"

A few moments later you sink down on the floor, back against the wall, head in your hands.

You feel like you can finally breathe. It was like slowly, every bit of air was being sucked away from you, and you know there's a time limit, yet there's nothing you can do to change _anything_. Except leave.

So that's exactly what you did.

You wrap your hands around your knees as you lull your head back against the wall. You close your eyes and as you let your head fall down your left shoulder, you quietly let out a groan before lifting your hand again and pressing it to your forehead. You rub from the bridge of your nose, along with the curve of the bone, to your temple and frown deeply.

"What was that all about?"

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_I know, I just said so myself._

_I know._

_Well, get yourself together then._

_I'm trying, just… just give me a minute._

You slowly open your eyes and glance up, not moving a muscle, at Quinn, your gaze tired and almost angry. You do not answer her question, instead, you hold her gaze for a couple of seconds before turning your face back into your hand again and closing your eyes.

She doesn't say anything back either. It stays quiet, but you don't feel her piercing gaze on you. You think she may have left, until you feel the metal of the locker next to you move, and the ugly sound of metal on metal fills the hallway.

She sits down next to you, legs flat on the floor, feet crossed. You glance at her from the corner of your eye. She has her hands folded in her lap and her head lulled back against the locker, blankly staring at the lockers on the other side of the hall. You lift your head from your hand, wrap your arms around your lags again and rest your chin on your knees.

Neither of you say anything, and it doesn't feel like either one has to.

You sit in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before you hear the metal move again. You turn your head to look at her.

She's silently observing you. Not just looking at you, _observing_ you. It makes you feel weird, and at the same time, it makes you feel special, appreciated.

You look at her while she observes you for a while until her eyes finally land on you. You feel a small smile tug on the corners of your lips and you don't care to suppress it. She blinks once, slowly, and then returns the smile.

"We should get going, teacher's gonna come check on us if we don't make it back soon."

"Yeah," you sigh, "we probably should."

Quinn's already on her feet when you're still preparing for standing up, and when you're finished, you find her hand reached out to you, offering to help you up. You smile at the gesture.

"You know, I'm not cripple," you mutter as you take her hand and let her pull you up. She smiles at you teasingly.

"That's what they all say."


	4. Beginnings

It's probably around 5 pm, you're sitting on your bed, typing away at the essay you have to write for your English class about great poets in the 16th century. You're bored. Really, in the 16th century they wrote in English that doesn't even _sound _like it does now. Tastes were different, so who's to say they really wrote what we say they wrote; that their works were translated correctly? For all you care, they could have written things that would deeply offend everyone today, but were accepted at that time, just like slavery used to be normal, whilst it is now a crime against humanity.

_What?_

_Hm?_

_What are you talking about, just write the darn essay!_

You're pulled out of your limbo of thoughts when your phone lights up on your nightstand and starts buzzing.

You thoughtlessly pick it up; must be Finn.

"Hey honey, why're you calling? Do you need help with the essay?"

_"Honey? We're calling each other honey, now? That was fast."_

Your entire body tenses and you shoot up from your relaxed position, knocking your laptop of your lap and (luckily) onto the mattress.

_"Hello? Hellooo?"_ you hear the muffled sound. In your surprise you've pulled the phone away from your ear, and it is now resting on the blanket, still in your hand. You bring the phone back to your ear.

"Hi," you say, "sorry about that. I thought you were Finn."

_"Yeah, I'd got that far."_ Quinn chuckles. You roll your eyes at your own stupidity. _"I think I'll get over it though. No permanent damage to worry about."_

You smile.

"Well, thank god for that. Seriously though, how did you even get this number?"

"Puck gave it to me." she answers you, in a matter-of-fact way, like it speaks for itself that she would want to have your number.

"_Anyway, I didn't call you just to be calling you, I actually do have something to ask you_."

You remain silent. Partially because you don't know how to act, talking to her; partially because you want to indicate that she can ask you whatever she wants and partially because you don't know what your feelings are doing at the moment and you wouldn't wrist saying _anything_ right now. You don't trust your sanity for the time being. You just hope that you'll have stuck the pieces of you that are momentarily scattered all around your room back together by the time you'll have to answer her question.

"_I was wondering if we could, maybe, sometime, hang out or something. Because of… the thing." _

The thing. She sure has a way of talking, and it's not really working for you.

"_I mean, I don't think talking at school would be such a good idea, but I don't think the time for coming over has, you know, _arrived_ yet. Or something. Ugh, I hate it when I can't find my way with words, makes me sound stupid."_

You smile to yourself, settling yourself against the wall, getting comfortable. Luckily you're all back together by now.

"I never think you're stupid, I even doubt you could pull it off if you tried," you joke. You hear a soft outtake of breath on the other end, and you know Quinn is smiling.

Something gently stirs inside you.

"But yes, I get where you're coming from. People might hear at school, which would be highly unwanted and most inefficient, seeing that they would most likely use the information they got from overhearing us ageist you. However, we've far from established a solid enough friendship so even consider going over to one-another's house, and-"

"_Rachel, you're rambling."_

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and even though she can't see you you duck your head. "I'm sorry, I te-"

"_You tend to do that. I know, I've known you longer than today, remember?" _You can hear her laughing silently.

"_Anyway, are there any things I should be aware of? Dates, lessons, anything?"_

"Well, I do have piano lessons on Monday from 5 to 6, vocals on Tuesdays from 8 to 9, dance classes every Wednesday afternoon, from 5 to 7, and this Friday I'll be out with Finn, but other than that, my schedule is completely free. That doesn't mean that I always have time though, I do of course need to keep up with my vocals even _outside_ of classes. You have to work hard for it and put in effort if you ever want to achieve anything in life."

"_Okay, so, in other words, you're rather busy. At all times in fact…" _You hear her laugh a single, breathy laugh, indicating her astonishment.

"Like I said Quinn, one has to work for it if they want to achieve anything in life." You can't help yourself, you immediately shoot into a defensive position, changing your tone to one that is even slightly lecturing. It's probably habit.

You don't mean for it to happen though.

"I'm sorry, that sounded rude." You apologize. That's when you hear her full-on chuckling.

"_Don't worry about it, I actually meant it as a joke, so your reaction somehow made it even better."_

A silence falls. You wouldn't call it awkward, but comfortable is another word. You _do_ want to say something, anything really, but mostly because the two of you are finally having something of a civilized conversation. You don't have anything to say though, so you say nothing, and with time, the silence turns comfortable, because it becomes clear that it isn't necessary to keep a conversation going.

It lasts not too long. Ten seconds maybe, but when Quinns voice fills your ear again, you can't find yourself to mind that you're pulled out of the comfort that the silence had provided you.

"_I'll text you then, okay? I can't say when, because it'll probably depend on the weather."_

You hum your agreement into your phone.

"_I'll see you tomorrow."_

_"_Yeah, okay. Bye Quinn."

"_Bye Rachel." _

Her voice had been soft, sweet even, not far from a whisper, and even after you've pulled the phone from your ear, you still find yourself holding a breath you didn't even know you had. You laugh at yourself softly and incredulously. She only told you 'bye'. What is your stomach so stressed about?

You feel all fuzzy.

She'd sounded so humane, so calm, nothing like you're used from her. Not hateful in any way, not frustrated, not anything negative for that matter. Then it dawns on you. Damn it, you can't do this to Finn. You'll help her out, but that's it. No taking risks of any kind.

The following morning a History test is announced due next week. You have a total of exactly seven days to learn about the civil war and really everything that is even remotely related to it; the build up to it, the reasons _why _the built up even started and all of the consequences it had.

You hate it.

You suck at history.

You've never been any good with the subjects that is just plainly stating facts, where it doesn't really matter what _you_ think, you have no influence on the answer you're to give at all. Even with maths you can answer on your own accord. Of course, there are certain rules you have to follow, because otherwise reaching an answer to the question is often even impossible, but you still have influence on how to solve it; whether you take the long route or the short one; whether you use your calculator and plot the graphs or do it algebraic.

With history you have to know the dates, the facts, and that's about it. It is _only_ facts, and you find it boring and the worst to study. Everything about it is opposing to who you are: a star, shining on ingenuity. Everything you do you give a twist of your own, and with history this is utterly impossible.

Pursing your lips in discontentment you write it down in your diary, mark it with three different colors to make sure you don't forget it and also schedule a study hour next Tuesday. You'll stay in the library to study until half past six, just so that you'll have enough time to still eat and attend to your vocal lessons.

When changing your books you can't help but semi-throw the books in your locker. You're just frustrated.

"Hey, what's wrong? You seem stressed." A large hand lands on your shoulder and as you twirl around you see Finn standing in front of you, his head cocked to the side, a slightly concerned look on his fece. You haven't had a chance to grab your books for next period yet.

"It's nothing like to be aggressive toward your books. Mostly you put them down like they have feelings of their own." He tries to joke, but right now, there is very little that can amuse you.

"They gave us a history test due next Wednesday."

He scrunches his face in mutual dissent. "You hate history."

"Exactly. I am aware that is is our history, and that we wouldn't be where we are now if it hadn't been for it, but truly, studying it is just one of those things I'll never enjoy."

"Well, lucky for you, I'll be there Friday to take your mind off things!" He smiles, obviously proud of himself. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I've looked into it, and they're playing it at 8:15, so I'll pick you up at seven, okay? That way we can still go grab a bite at breadstix and still make it in time."

He is now positively beaming. You suppose it is because he really looked into it and even made a planning. For Finn, this is a huge achievement, he usually just takes you out for dinner, and never feels the need to place a reservation, so that he can just say that he'll pick up up whenever he feels like it. He mostly decides the time the day of the date itself. It has in fact once resulted in the two of you not having a seat, because breadstix was completely packed for a change. He then took you to the chinese restaurant, which is actually little more than a snack bar, only with chinese food instead of fries.

You have to admit you're proud of him. He's really trying.

So you smile at him brightly. "That sounds amazing."

You place your hand on his upper arm and look up at him proudly. The sound of the bell pulls you back to reality and Finn bends down to kiss you.

"I have to go," he says. "I'll see you after class, okay?"

He smiles and quickly kisses you on the cheek. Then he's gone.

You change your books and clutch them to your chest tightly with your left arm, slamming the locker shut with your right. You're still slightly pissed of when you set toward your next class, but it's not nearly as bad as it was before.

That's when the sea of people starts to part.

As you're pushed to the side by the other students moving, you see Quinn, Santana and Brittany passing by. Quinn with her hands firmly on her hips, Santana and Brittany flanking her, pinkies intwined. As you catch Quinn's eye you see a flash of recognition flash through hazel, and an honest-to-god _smile_ appears on her lips.

At first you're taken aback by the sudden friendly gesture, but after you quickly get yourself back together you return her smile.

You don't beam at her. You doubt you ever will, she still slightly frightens you. After all, she could destroy you. More than she's even aware of.

Next period, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

**Hey Rachel, I was thinking, I have cheerios practice tomorrow after school, so I'll be staying late anyway. Maybe we can talk then? Quinn**

You can't help but smile. Quickly you glance up to see what your teacher is doing. She's sitting in her chair, or more hanging in it, slightly turned away from the classroom, toward the windows, a paper in her hands, studying it intently.

Once you're sure she poses no threat you glance back over your shoulder and catch Quinn smiling at you. You smile back, and slightly shaking your head in amusement turn your attention back to your phone.

You hit 'Answer' and swiftly check on your teacher again. She's still semi-sleeping in her chair while pretending to read the papers in her hand.

**Looking forward to it, are we? But to get to your proposal, I don't think that'll be a problem. Finn has practice as well, so I'll probably stay and watch him until you're done. You finish about the same time, if I remember correctly. Where do you want to meet?**

You hit 'Send' and look over your shoulder to Quinn again. She's writing, probably doing the exercises the teacher told us to. Or no, looking better, she doesn't look so concentrated. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, and now you look at it, her pen doesn't move across the paper, it stays pretty much at the same place.

She's doodling.

Something about that warms you up. There is obviously more to Quinn than meets the eye. And you can't wait to discover what she has yet to show the world.

You see her posture tense slightly, indicating that she's receiving your message.

She leans back and shifts her gaze downward. Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline, and you're pretty sure she didn't expect you to reply during class. A sideways smile creeps up on her, and she glances to you from under her brows, holds your gaze for a second and then quickly checks on the teacher before returning her attention to her phone.

Not much later your phone vibrates again.

**Let's not get cocky now, shall we? Before you get ideas into your head that I inevitably will have to crush, we can't have that now, can we? As for the place, I'll text you about that tomorrow. **

Again you can't suppress your smile. She's actually joking back to you. Before you get the chance to reply, you receive another message.

**Also, an entire paragraph, Rachel? Really? We'll have to work on that.**

Your brows skyrocket up at that and you turn to her with shocked eyes, mouth half open. You find her leaning back in her chair, looking at you with a satisfied smirk.

She cocks an eyebrow at you.

You squint at her accusingly and turn back to your phone.

**How dare you?! There is nothing wrong with my way of texting. I use proper grammar and punctuation, as I believe everyone should. Language was not invented for people to take it back to mere sounds by typing in such incomplete sentences. I will not take part of such a thing. It is a disgrace against all the effort our ancestors put into creating the language we use nowadays. To get back on your first accusation, you were the one to start this conversation, so I have solid information and proof insinuating that you indeed are looking forward to this meeting of ours. Or at least not resenting it.**

You've already hit 'Send' when you think of something else.

**Also, you're one to talk. I notice you use proper grammar and full sentences as well. Therefor you have no reason to accuse me of anything that has to do with that. The fact that I was raised very vocal and with broad vocabulary resulting in me often forming longer and more complicated sentences than the average human being, does not change, in essence, that we, in fact, text in similar ways.**

You turn your attention back to Quinn, who is apparently reading you first message. Her face is pulled between utter surprise and amusement; her eyebrows are literally in her hairline now, her eyes wide and her lips parted in a slight 'o', corners tilted up just slightly. When her mouth snaps shut and her eyes squint you conclude that she's reading your second message.

She looks up at you, lips pursed, and nods sideways, as if indicating agreement.

**Okay, you have a point. But we really need to work on the humungous sentences you send. That is not what texting is made for, I believe.**

As you are busy typing your reply another message comes in.

**But for now, let's stop this argument. We have plenty of time tomorrow. ;)**

You just stare at her last text, a soft smile playing on your lips.

Turning to Quinn again, you nod your agreement and slip your phone away again.

She smiles at you, an honest, cheerful smile that is lightened by teeth. You are overcome by a wave of warmth, pulsating from your chest, tightening around your airway, resulting in a sharp yet somehow soft intake of breath.

That smile. That smile is what got you to even start trying to become her friend. That smile that can light a room. That is honest and unforced. Free from all the pressure of her home, status she has to hold, anything.

That smile that is _just_ _Quinn_, in all her true glory.

She blinks and turns her gaze away. It's one of those blinks that you're sure you saw a wink, yet it never really was there.

You turn back around to have your text- and notebook and sit motionless for a moment.

_Oh dear, I_ am_ in trouble_.


	5. Intermission

When the bell rings you take your time packing up; you have a spare period next, so you technically have all the time in the world. You catch a glimpse of Quinn, basically running out of the room before half has even realized that class is over. Guess she doesn't have a spare hour.

You strut toward your locker and are met by Kurt and Mercedes, waiting for you.

"Hey girl," Kurt greets you, Mercedes mumbles something of 'Hi rachel' in the background, but is inevitably pushed to the background by Kurt's enthusiasm. You open your locker and put your books down before turning to him with a questioning look.

He exchanges a look with Mercedes and then turns back to you, a somewhat mischievous smile on his face.

_Oh God, do you think he knows?_

_Knows what?_

_You know! The thing with Quinn._

_Oh! That! I don't know, maybe. I mean, look at his face._

_Yeah, that can't mean anything good, can it?_

_Doesn't look like it, oh, and he must have a gaydar, being gay himself and all that._

_We're screwed._

_Yes. Yes we are indeed._

_Just don't let him see it._

_Excellent plan._

You wait for him to drop the bomb on you while your hands turn clammy and you feel your heart rate speed up more and more by the second.

"Well," he begins, before inserting a dramatic pause for effect.

Oh, sometimes you hate the theatrics.

"You know that we have to group up in groups of three for our next glee assignment and perform a medley." He looks at Mercedes, positively beaming with excitement. "So we thought, with me and Mercedes both being diva's we would totally nail this assignment, but then we needed a third person."

Then he does a little jump and claps his hands together.

"So who better than the queen of diva's herself to join us?" Mercedes is nodding fervently begins him.

"Yeah," she speaks for the first time. "We did a number together once, and we sound awesome together, so you're the perfect candidate!"

"We'd be legendary," Kurt agrees with her, shaking his head as he imagines the spectacle that would occur.

"So," Mercedes asks you, spreading her arms in an inviting gesture. "will you join us, so that we can kick glee club's butt?"

"Oh also, we'd win the dinner at breadstix, which, of course, is something that can't hurt."

You laugh at Kurt's attempt to be witty.

You have to admit, a medley with those two would quite likely go into history as legendary. With Mercedes' power, Kurt's range and your utter superiority you would have no trouble winning this dinner.

So you happily agree to join them, immediately proposing some classics to mash up.

You've settled in the library, your history books in front of you, your notes lying next to them. You're trying to really concentrate and take them in, but it's not going very well.

Santana and Brittany are sitting about fifteen feet away from you, and they've probably scared the lady behind the desk away, because they're being rather loud, yet no-one has come to lecture them yet. You see that Santana is also studying for the history test and that she's trying to tutor Brittany.

She doesn't want to hear about it though. You've heard the words 'duckies' and 'spring' and 'taking them away from their mothers', so you guess that Brittany is in her own way pondering why the seagulls steal the little ducklings away from their mothers. Little does she know that those seagulls actually eat those ducklings, but you won't be the one to break the news to her.

And looking at the sight of it, neither will Santana. She's now just studying the book, every once in a while telling Brittany that she's sure nothing bad will happen to the little ducklings.

After fifteen minutes of fruitlessly struggling to ignore the noise they're making, you sigh and rise from your chair in a swift move, honoring your inner diva. Santana's eyes shoot up to you and she challengingly looks at you, raising one brow and slightly pursing her lips. You're actually physically taken aback by the look, but you figure it's for the best.

So you move forward, walking toward their table until you're standing right in front of them.

"Excuse me, but there are people here that are actually trying to study, but you're making that quite hard. I must politely ask you to please either stop being so loud or move to be loud somewhere else."

Santana smirks at you.

"It's not even an important test, it probably won't even make any difference if you screw it up, I doubt he'll even grade it. Yet you're still trying so hard. Not much of a history person, are you, Berry?" You straighten up at her quick analysis, which is, sadly enough, correct.

"I see you're learning for it as well though, Santana. Does that mean you're not much of a history person either? I can't see how it is that you don't seem to mind the peace here being disturbed."

She laughs at you, throwing her head back.

"No, you see, I am trying to maintain a straight A profile here. You see, though you may think very little of me, I actually do have dreams of myself, and for those dreams, good grades are a must. So I simply don't have the privilege to slack off at any time.

"As for Britts, we've known each other since kindergarten, so I've learned with time to study with her."

"Yes, maybe you can afford her to be like this, but you're also troubling other people here, including Brittany herself. You may be able to study like this, but Brittany herself will fail this test like this. That can't be something you wish for, now is it?"

Brittany seems to have been pulled back to the real word at the mention of her name, and she practically throws herself over the table to point her finger at you.

It's pointing at your nose, and once she's got your attention she sits back in her chair and leans her elbow on the table, still pointing at you.

"No, you know, San always says I'm something like superman, you know?"

When you frown at her not understanding she starts circling her still pointing at you index finger.

"Well, superman is actually Mark Kent, you know?"

"Clark Kent, honey."

"Is actually Clark Kent. So in his normal life he's, like, super weak and all that, but when the world needs him, he turns into superman. San says I'm like that as well."

At her explanation an amused smile has formed on your face. You look at Santana amused. She's rubbing her forehead, clearly embarrassed.

"Superman, Santana? Really?" At that she immediately shoots up.

"Hey, it's a fitting description, and this way, Britts understands what I'm trying to say. Furthermore, I'm not half as bad as Q."

You raise your eyebrows at that.

"Not half as bad as Quinn?"

"Yeah," she shrugs. "Quinn secretly is a complete geek. Of course, she doesn't really tell anyone because she's afraid that her status will go down."

Brittany adds herself into the conversation as well.

"Yeah, she didn't really tell us either. When we were going through her stuff when we were over and she was getting drinks we found a box full of Harry Potter books and stuff under her bed. So she doesn't really know that we know either."

She scrunches her face at what she'd just said. "Does that make any sense? My head hurts San." She lays herself down on Santana's shoulder.

"Nobody knows, or at least, that's what she thinks. But I figured telling you can't hurt. I mean, who would believe you if you were to tell?"

She looks at you like this is obvious and that she apparently feels no regret spilling her most well-kept secret to you.

For you, this only works positively. At the mention of Harry Potter you felt your stomach explode in butterflies and you were utterly unable to hide the smile that is now plastered on your face


	6. Alliance

The next day during English, just after the teacher has passed you on her round of collecting the essays about the poets you had to write, you feel your phone vibrate.

**Wait for me after practice by the field, I'll pick you up. Quinn**

You can't help but be excited. You're actually going to spend time with _Quinn Fabray,_ HBIC of McKinley High, feared yet adored by all of Lima, Ohio, the only person to ever pull off being cheerios captain_ three_ times. Once in freshman, sophomore and senior year. And, most important and especially most frightening of all, object of your attempted suppressed yet ever present affections.

On your way to the bleachers, you make a stop at your car and dump your bag in it. Freed of your load you climb up the stairs and sit on the third row from above. You have an excellent view of the field from up there, and you can see both the cheerios and the football player's practice. While the footballers are knocking either dummies or each other over, the cheerios are running laps. As you remember all your held-ups (the library with Kurt and Mercedes for Glee, the auditorium for a little calming down by piano and the car) you really do hope that they've not been running all that time. In the back of your head, you secretly do know that that has in fact been the case. You've heard the rumours about Sylvester's inhuman hard practices and once again praise yourself lucky that you're on the stands, and not down there. You'd probably collapse after fifteen minutes. Your daily elliptical routine and weekly runs keep you fit and in shape, but are nowhere _near_ to preparing you for those endless runs.

You catch sight of Quinn, running up front, setting the pace.

You allow yourself to stare a bit. It's not like they're all _waiting_ for you to do something, _anything_, that allows them to bring you down again, they're way too engrossed with their own business. Right now, it's practice. Except for this one guy that is jumping weirdly, apparently trying to catch someone's attention. That's when you notice the number on his shirt.

It's Finn.

How could it not be?

You acknowledge him by giving him a small wave. He waves back at you, but has stopped jumping. You see that he starts making his way over to you and momentarily you panic. Before he's really started running though, one of his fellow teammates tackles him to the ground. From the number on his back you can tell that it's Puck. They scramble to their feet and you see Puck make some exaggerated move with his arms and shake his head in an unbelieving way. You suppose he's telling him that he should be focused on practice instead of his girlfriend.

Ugh, there's that word again. _Girlfriend._ You hate it. It makes you ache with guilt.

Puck jogs back to the rest of the team, and Finn turns around and waves at you again. This time it's goodbye.

* * *

At the end of practice the cheerios follow almost immediately behind the football players to make their way to the showers, but not after you've seen Quinn call a couple of cheerios forward and publicly humiliate them. They scurry away, only Santana and Brittany seem unimpressed and take their time strolling down the field, their pinkies locked together. Quinn stays behind to collect some of the left-behind props and then makes her way over to you. You've climbed down the stands by now, and are walking past the fence, which reaches your lower ribcage. Noticing the change in Quinn's direction you stop walking and turn to wait for her. She lazily jogs over to where you're standing and at reaching the fence ungraciously drops the props she's holding.

"Hey, I'm glad you made it. I was a little worried when you didn't answer my text, you usually make sure you do." She places her lower arms on the iron bar and leans over. You subconsciously take a step back, for reasons not yet determined. Very briefly you think you see hurt flash across her face and you immediately feel bad.

"I'm sorry for not answering. I could only think of an affirmation to reply, and I have something against one-worded texts." You smile a small smile and move forward, placing a hand on the bar before turning your back to it to lean against it. When you notice she doesn't answer you, and apparently doesn't plan on doing so either you turn your head to look at her and find her once again studying you with a genuinely interested look. You cock your head sideways, questioning her, but all she does is stare back.

Her face is tinted a pinker shade than usual from practice, and there's a shimmer on her for which you're sure sweat has been responsible. You decide that slightly worn out from working out is a good look on her. She looks alive.

"Wait here. I'll just put those away and take a quick shower, I'm way too gross for anyone to handle right now."

You beg to differ.

But she's already crouching down and picking up the dropped props. You're left to gape at her as she walks away from you toward the building. It's simply mean how she has to power to render literally anyone speechless.

You sit down on the lowest bench and simply wait for her to finish her shower.

That reminds you. She's taking a shower. A frown appears on your face. Damn those hormones. A blush inevitably begins to heat up your face and you resist the urge to run your hands over it in an attempt to cool it down. You shift uncomfortably, trying to shake the feeling that is creeping up on you and force yourself to focus on something else. Sadly enough, history is the first thing that pops into your mind and you frown even harder. You'd momentarily forgotten about that… You look over at the parking lot, where your history books are lying in your car. Shrugging to yourself you stand up and make your way back to your car.

* * *

When Quinn walks out of the building and walks over to you, you're engrossed in your history textbook. You've swung your right leg over your left and rested your book on it. To stop the pages from flipping over in the wind you've placed your left hand spread wide along the edge of the book and you're holding your hair in place with your right. You've laid it all out over your right shoulder, so all you have to do is lay your hand in your neck to stop it from blowing all over your face.

You don't notice Quinn as she walks toward you and sits down next to you, peering in to see what is is you're reading. Only when she sighs exaggeratedly and hums her disapproval do you notice her. Immediately you straighten up and your right hand falls from your neck onto your book. Your head shoots to your right, identifying the disturber of your peace and most important of all, your concentration. When you realize it's Quinn your irritation disappears and you place your bookmark on the page you were reading before closing the book.

"And here I was hoping that maybe you had some amazing literature I haven't read yet," she shakes her head animatedly. "I guess I should have known."

You're pretty sure that there's an insult somewhere in that sentence.

"I'll have you know that I have an extensive collection of literature at home. The fact that I don't bring it to school does not by any means indicate that is is nonexistent." You clutch your book to your chest and rise from your seating spot. Quinn rises with you.

"I'm sure there is. Now will you let me drive you to our destination or are you going to put up a fight, because I can just as well throw you over my shoulder and force you. No hard feelings." She's smirking at you and you force yourself to meet her gaze. You lift your chin in the air and stand your full length.

"I'd rather you didn't resort to that. I'm sure we can come to a mutual agreement."

"Good. Follow me then."

She's walking away from you again and you have you quicken your pace to catch up with her. When you reach her car she surprises you by holding your door open. "Won't ever hurt to try and make amends."

Before you've been able to sit down she reaches out to you though. She's snatched the book from your hand before you've even realized it and unable to stop your momentum you plop down in the seat ungraciously. Face stoic she closes your door and makes her way over to her own. Your eyes don't leave her as you're still trying to grasp what just actually happened. Quinn fluently slides in the car seat next to you and places the book on the back seat.

You're still staring at her and by now she's settled in and has decided to stare back at you. She lifts her brow and smirks slightly before turning away from you again and starting the engine. It takes until she's driven you off the school grounds that you turn your gaze to the road.

She surprises you by going the complete opposite way from where you're expecting her to go, but you keep it to yourself until you've ruled out all the possible spots you thought she might be taking you.

"Say, Quinn, where are you taking me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm kidnapping you. I'm driving you into the middle of nowhere to drug you without being seen, after which I will dump you in the back and hide you in my basement."

Without meaning to your eyes widen comically and your mouth bobs open. There is so much you want to say right now that on the way to your mouth a traffic jam has occurred and now there's nothing coming out at all.

She quickly glances your way and looks confused when she sees your face.

"No, I'm not really going to you know. I thought that much was obvious."

You knew that.

"I knew that. I just didn't know how to respond to such outrageous behavior."

She laughs. "I'm sorry to have confused you. Though I must admit that I'm rather proud of myself to have rendered you speechless for once."

Oh, if she knew.

"I'm not taking to either the Lima Bean or Breadstix for the simple reason that there might be people we know. I'm not taking you to my house because I'm not taking you to my house and I'm not taking you to yours because frankly I can't remember where you live." She looks over at you again and when you stay silent she continues.

"I'm taking you to the park. Hardly anyone goes there, so we'll be able to talk there."

"Brittany will probably be there. And with Brittany comes Santana."

"What'd they be doing in the park?"

"Feeding the ducks."

"The park is bigger than the pond, you know, Berry…"

"You make a valid point."

"Indeed I do."

Silence envelops you again. You're extremely excited (probably more so than would be considered normal, but hey, you're still you) about her _finally_ wanting to talk to you, but you decide not to push the issue. So the two of you sit silently in the car as you redirect your attention to its interior. There is a cheerio logo hanging from the rearview mirror, along with two other charms you don't recognize. You mentally make a note to ask her about it later. When you've reached a point where you would allow yourself to ask. You know it may seem silly to others, but if you didn't resort to placing questions waiting to be asked in such categories you would have absolutely _no_ filter left. And people were already complaining about your word vomit.

You also notice that the car is messier than you would have expected. There are some papers sticking out of a gap in the dashboard (you once again contain yourself from peeking to see what they are) and aside from your history book and her bag on the back seat you spot an umbrella and something that looks like a bag of chips. An empty one at that.

You repress your smile and decide not to call her out on it. Surely chips were strictly prohibited on coach Sylvester's diet?

You're pulled from your thoughts as you feel the car make a rather sharp turn and slow down. When you look out of the window you see you've reached the park entrance. The parking lot is empty.

You think it's actually rather depressing that no-one would be at the park on such a beautiful spring morning. Though you have to admit, it's still rather chilly and not nearly all the plants have started growing new leaves yet, resulting in a somewhat grim environment.

Despite all this, you love to go to the park. Especially on days like this. Especially because it's empty. It makes you feel like you connect with the nature, and that makes you feel like you're part of something bigger. Like you're part of the world, instead of being just _in_ it.

After Quinn kills the engine you sit in silence for a moment. Then she turns her head to look at you, and you see a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. Without saying a word, she gets out of the car and walks toward the entrance of the park.

Finally catching up, you open your door and scurry after her. Behind you you hear the car locking.

She waits for you at the entrance, back still facing her car, and continues walking once she hears your footsteps getting loud enough to conclude that you must be almost next to her.

You semi-jog the last couple of yards to catch up with her completely and side by side she leads you through the park.

It's funny, you're walking next to one another, but she's without a doubt the one leading you. Yet it feels like you're equals.

Though there were no cars in the parking lot, she doesn't lead you past the pond, but follows a path that bends to the right. You briefly are enveloped by trees before reaching a small open space. The path keeps bending to the right and on its left side is a picnic table, tainted dark from the winter and spring showers. It's such a simple place and yet it feels like something straight out of a fairytale.

You slow down your pace as you walk out from under the trees, appreciating the beauty of it in silence. Quinn walks ahead of you and you watch her as she climbs up the table. She sits on it, feet on the beech and leans her elbows on her knees. She looks at you, seemingly waiting for you to come join her. So you do, and climb up the table to sit next to her.

It feels strangely intimate though the entire time the both of you have been almost completely mute. But you feel like this is an issue that should not be pushed, or you might send her running away again as you have so many times before. You don't want to lose her again, not now that you're so close to everything you've wanted for the past few years. The two of you are finally making _real_ progress to becoming friends despite your countless efforts from before.

You feel her shift beside you and you glance at her from your peripheral vision. She's folded her hands together and is now rhythmically squeezing them, a tell-tale sign you have discovered that means she wants to say something but stops herself before she does. She notices you and stops squeezing, and is now running her right thumb over her left hand knuckles. You squeeze your eyes together in a mix of curiosity, wonder and concern.

As you open your mouth to say something she flexes her hands one last time and speaks before you can.

"I've never really been good with words," she softly says, though there is an edge in her voice you can't explain, "That's one of the reasons I hardly ever talk about myself as well."

She sits up and, now seemingly more at ease, folds her hands in her lap, her eyes strained on them.

"It runs in the family, I think. None of us talk about their problems or weaknesses. We stash them away in a dark corner of our minds and pray that if we ignore them for a long enough time, they will disappear." She scoffs and smiles defeatedly.

"Of course they don't." She lifts her eyes and meets yours. They're stoic, though her face shows a defeated emotion. It doesn't fit. Her eyes don't match the rest of her facial expression and you feel your chest ache as you realize that she is, in fact, not really letting you in. Again.

"I know you're here because you thought I would tell you all about my problems at school or at home," she continues as she returns her gaze to her hands, "but I can't. I know you can't understand because you wear your heart on both your sleeve and your tongue, but I ask you to try nevertheless."

She unfolds her hands and rubs them on her thighs as she takes in a deep breath. You watch as her chest rises and freezes for a moment as she holds it before blowing it out again. As she does, she turns to look at you. Her hands still at her knees.

"It does a lot for me to know that you're there, even though I'm not a sharer like you are." It's barely more than a whisper and your eyes shoot up to hers.

You see her.

Quinn. Her eyes are soft and warm. Apologizing and hoping. Appreciating.

It steals your breath. It's all you can do not to gasp and you clench your jaw to control yourself. You hold her gaze, but instead of having your gaze spew all of the emotions you're feeling at her, the two of you just sit in silence, regarding one another. And in that silence she knows that you accept her choice and that you will be there for her whenever she needs you. You see the corners of her mouth ease into a soft smile, and in that little moment you know that she is conveying all of the appreciation she could possibly harbour to you and you let it fill you up like the sunlight on the first warmish day after a bitter winter.

You've never felt more at peace.


	7. Compassion

Your date with Finn went great, especially for Finn's standards. He had in fact ordered a table at breadstix, which had been stamped, so he'd made the right decision for the first part of the evening. When you ordered a plain salad you noticed him cock his head in question, but at least he'd learned that it was probably in his best interest not to ask about such things.

Last time he did ask, and you had nearly left him sitting there, staring at you incredulously. You always try to understand that some people don't get that you're a vegan, ("Why would you ever want to _not_ eat something? It only makes eating more complicated.") but you reckon he could at least _remember_ it. Which most of the time, Finn sadly enough didn't. He once even fed you real meat, for which he only apologized because you confronted him with it. You're pretty sure that if you hadn't mentioned it while you were raging over him throwing inappropriate insults in Kurt's presence, he would never have brought it up again and have believed that he'd gotten away with it.

But today, he decided not to call on you choice of food and you mentally applaud him. If he'd pulled something like that today, you'd have broken up with him right that instant.

Afterwards he took you to the cinema. He insisted he paid for everything, including snacks and drinks, claiming that it wouldn't be a problem because he had money to spare since he'd been helping out with Puck's pool cleaning business, but when you came back from the restroom you saw him counting his money at the table you'd left him in with one hand in his hair and a pensive look on his face. You thought he looked cute.

The film wasn't too bad, though you got shushed several times because you were explaining some parts to Finn. In the car ride back home the only topic had been just _how_ Sherlock had survived that fall. Finn really had a hard time wrapping his mind around the little underwater breathing device that had been introduced earlier in the film and how that had anything to do with Sherlock's survival.

When he dropped you off he walked you to your door and stood for a moment, fumbling with his jacket. You just watched it happen with a smile. Then he raised his eyes to yours and told you he'd really enjoyed your evening together. You agreed with him, kissed him softly on the cheek and told him he was getting better. He smiled at you like a five year old getting a compliment on a drawing and bent down to press his lips gently to yours. He lingered there for a moment, but it stayed perfectly innocent. When he pulled back you noticed he was blushing a little and you could't help but reach up and peck him on the lips once more before telling him goodnight and disappearing into your home. Your dad's didn't thoroughly inquire you about your date, which you were very grateful for, and you made your way upstairs to your room.

You closed the door behind you and laid down on your bed. You were exhausted, but in a good way. The film went on for later than had been expected because there'd been a problem starting it, so it was getting rather late. Especially for Rachel Berry standards.

But for the moment, you didn't really care. You just laid on your bed with your arms spread wide and one leg dangling off the side of the bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying the evening in your head. Yeah. It'd been fun. And Finn was really getting better at all this!

Really, you were proud of him.

Until you noticed the wall near your head blinking slightly.

You rolled over onto your stomach and reached for your nightstand where you'd left your phone, which was now blinking fluorescent blue light on the wall. You didn't even have to look to know who had texted you.

**Hey there, tiny! I know you're on a date, and I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, but I just really needed to thank you for yesterday. It meant more to me than you probably think. Thank you. Xx Quinn**

You just stared at it.

Tiny.

_Really?_

* * *

You completely blew your test, you just know it. It kept on asking about articles or pictures and what it meant and how you could see that. You didn't see _anything_ in them, let alone be able to explain them. As a result, you are now even in a fouler mood than you were the week before. You practically managed to scare Finn away that time. That is something no doubt will reoccur in approximately two minutes, because right now, you're headed to your locker and it's not even a question whether Finn will search you out to ask you how your test worked out. Well it didn't. You actually feel sorry for him in advance, but there really is nothing you can so about it.

Now that you've waded through the masses of people wandering through the hallways you can't help but not very gently jerk open your locker's door and shove away your history books. Seriously, if you have to look at those even one more time in the next four hours, someone is going to get hurt. Promise.

You're afraid it's going to be Finn, because he chose exactly now to turn up next to you crooked grin plastered on his face, right arm up against the locker, undoubtedly thinking he at least looks charming.

"How'd it go? Did you kick their asses?" You're not the least bit charmed.

"No, Finn, I did not. And if you don't mind, I'm afraid now's now really the time you want to be talking to me. You see, at the moment I m quite frustrated and more than a little irritated at the entire world, though I hope you will believe me when I say that you are most certainly not the reason behind my foul mood. You're simply the first person to seek me out after I've entered this state of mind."

He stares at you like you spontaneously started speaking arabic.

"Rach, you know I love you and all that, but I really have _no_ idea what you just said. I didn't even know half of the words you used." You sigh.

"I'm just in a bad mood because I didn't do very well on my test," you tell him tiredly. Really, you love the guy, but it would help if he could follow you on an intellectual level. You're sure Quinn would -

_Whoa, stop right there!_

_What the hell was that?_

_You know very well what that was!_

_I can't help it! It just _happened_!_

_Well, if that's the case then learn to control it! You know you can't let her in like that! He deserves better than that._

_Even though he's a moron._

_Even though he's a moron. But he can't help that, he was born that way._

_Ha. Born that way. Good one._

_You know I didn't mean it li - oh crap! He's staring at us weirdly. He knows something's up!_

"Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it…" You pull yourself out of your thoughts and turn to him with a tired smile. You're actually kind of glad that you're in a foul mood now, because it gives you an excuse for why your smile is utterly unconvincing.

"I told you, I'm really not in a good mood right now, and I keep on reminding myself just _how_ bad I blew the test, so it's not getting any better either." Whew, at least this time you channeled Finn-speak in time. You're pretty sure you won't have to repeat yourself this time.

For some reason, Finn looks like you just kicked his puppy. Hard.

Which by the way is a preposterous thought. As if you, the vegan daughter of two gay men would ever even consider harming any animal for no good reason. Especially cute, fluffy little puppies.

Really.

Preposterous.

"Hey, I know you're feeling bad and all, but you don't have to take it out on me, you know. I'm only trying to help. I mean, I'd ask you to come home with me after school so I could make you feel better, but -"

"Finn, we've _talked_ about this. Several times, in fact. I'm not ready to take that next step with you yet. You know that."

He pouts and stares at his feet. You place your hand on his arm and rub your thumb in a soothing motion. "I know, I do," he says, "But I just want to help and I feel so powerless right now."

Really, you try to contain it, but your eyebrows rise as you hear him say 'powerless'. That's quite the word for him. You keep soothing him with your thumb and reach up to peck him softly on the cheek.

"I know honey, but we'll get there. I promise."

_What, when did this conversation turn to be about comforting _him_? You're the one that needs comforting. _You_ just failed your history test, not him!_

It doesn't take much your your rage at the universe to flare back up, and within seconds you're almost trembling. You take your hand away from him before he catches up with you, because, really, if he starts asking about what is wrong now and what is it he did… You'll explode. So no, thank you very much, some other time maybe.

Luckily, the bell rings and you quickly get your books for English before slamming your locker closed and excusing yourself to your boyfriend. He bends down, kisses you swiftly and immediately after, you brush past him, secretly glad to get away from him and his smothering figure.

But you've hardly moved five steps or you're hit by a wall of _cold._

Approximately five slushies hit you simultaneously and you're immediately put to a stop as you gasp for air from the shock. You hear the laughter, and vaguely register the sound of people high-fiving, but right now, your senses are almost completely overshadowed by the burning in your eyes and the stinging pain on your face.

It's so cold it practically feels hot.

You can feel it dripping down your face, your neck and disappear into your sweater. You remember that you're not wearing a sweater you're particularly attached to, and briefly you feel relieved. That's when you register a voice, shouting angrily.

You daren't open your eyes, afraid that more of the sticky ice will drip into them and maybe cause some permanent damage. But then again, you don't really have to open your eyes to know who's shouting at the jocks, humiliating them in front of the entire school.

You feel strong arms encircle you and the voice asks you if you're okay. Your head bobs a little in response. The arms around you tighten a little.

"No, Berry, no you're not. For Pete's sake, you're trembling all over."

Pressure is applied and gently you're moved from your position. With your eyes still shut tight you're maneuvered through the hallway. Every once in a while one of the arms let go of you, you suppose to shove someone away, only to return a few moments later.

A strange feeling of security envelopes you, and you allow yourself to relax a little.

An arm leaves you again and this time you hear the very familiar creak of the bathroom door opening. You're ushered inside and led forward until your already searching hands find the edge of the sink and clamp themselves around it. The secure hold around you is released, but a hand slides up your back and lingers on your shoulder. You suppress a shiver but can't stop the goosebumps from spreading from the trail to cover your entire body.

"You have a kit for these kind of stations, don't you?"

You bob.

"In your locker?"

You bob again.

"Okay, stay here, I'll be right back."

You bob some more.

The hand of your shoulder leaves and you're left feeling exposed and vulnerable. There are still some chunks of ice sliding down your back, but they're moving so slow that you can practically tune out the sliding. Furthermore, your sweater has in the meantime soaked up most of the ice-cold drink and are now extremely uncomfortably sticking to every surface it can stick to, like some kind of slime, only cold.

You can just about _feel_ your core temperature decreasing and it's not long before your entire being is shivering uncontrollably.

You still haven't dared to open your eyes and by now have had them shut for so long that you're beginning to doubt your balance. As a result you grip the sink even tighter in an attempt to stay upright.

The squeaking of the door alerts you to someone coming in, and you tense immediately.

You feel extremely prey. Weakened, blind, easy to capture.

But the door squeaks again, and you release a breath you didn't know you were holding at the realization that the person has left again.

Before you've really composed yourself the door squeaks again, this time accompanied by the sound of something scraping over the floor. The door clicks shut and the scraping comes to a halt next to you. Footsteps now fill the room, followed by the clatter of items being dumped in the sink.

"How did you get in my locker?"

"I have my ways." You don't doubt it for a second.

A hand covers yours and pries your fingers from the sink. You need to hold on to something though, so you switch targets and clasp your fingers around the palms steadying you. A thumb starts stroking your hand in an attempt to calm you down, to reassure you.

You're turned around and guided into a chair. Gently, hands are released from your death grip and as soon as you lose the contact you feel prey again. That is, until you feel a hand on your shoulder and hear the sound of the water starting to run. The even sound of water cascading down the sink is regularly interrupted until it is no longer and you feel a hand slide under your hair and you feel it lift your hair into the sink. The hand on your shoulder leaves its place and comes to rest on your chest, just below your collarbone. Then the hand is removed from your hair and placed on the back of your head. Slowly, gently, you're tilted backwards until the edge of the sink is resting in the hollow of your neck and you can feel hot water grazing your skin before it soaks your hair, ridding it of ice and syrup.

A second tap is opened and in a matter of seconds you feel a damp towel press onto your face. Gradually the slushie remnants are removed from your face and neck and by the time it's done you're surprised you haven't died of a heart-attack yet with the pace your heart is beating away.

"You can open your eyes now, you know," the voice tells you, but you're afraid to do as it tells you. You hear a sigh and then the hands are treading through your hair. In long, languid strokes the slushie is being wiped off you and the gentleness with which it is done startles you.

"I talked to Ms Holmes for you. You're starting Shakespeare today, and for next week you need to have finished reading the first two chapters of Hamlet." It's said with the same nonchalance she used to use when she was casually throwing insults your way. Only this time she's taken care of you.

_Is taking_ care of you.

You open our eyes and are met by hazel. A soft smile graces her face as she regards you. Her fingers still in your hair and for a moment you just look at one another. Her eyes pierce yours with an emotion you haven't seen in them before, and it takes you a little while to place it.

Guilt.

She is silently begging you for forgiveness, a apology and promise at the same time. Affection seizes you and wraps its hand around your heart and _squeezes_.

It hurts. It hurts _so much_ you almost leave her right there.

Yet at the same time you want nothing more but to reach up, pull her down and kiss her.

So you stay where you are, in the chair with your head on the edge of the sink, with Quinn Fabray standing next to you, her hands in your hair, a silent offering of peace.

"Thank you," you breach the silence, and her smile quirks a little before she settles her gaze on your hair again and resumes washing out the slushie.

You'd forgotten all about the slushie, and especially with the warm water grazing your scalp the contrast between the water's warmth and your slushie soaked sweater hits you with such force that you're immediately, once again, reduced to a shivering puddle of Berry.

Quinn's hands still in your hair again and she looks down at you. You can practically feel her gaze travel up and down your body before she says: "We need to get you out of these clothes before you end up in the hospital with hypothermia."

_Wait, what?_

_No, I am _not_ undressing in front of her. I won't do it and she can't make me._

_Actually I'm pretty sure she can…_

_Not the point and you know it._

Your eyes widen in response.

"Really Quinn, I think I'll be fine. Naturally, yes, I plan on discarding these garments in the very near future and change into something less sticky and cold, but there really is no reason for you to -"

"Berry, stop talking and just let me _help_ you. Please."

The two of you look at one another for a couple of seconds again before you give her a tiny nod. She regards you with a look that practically shouts _'Thank you'_ and walks out the door again. You follow her with your eyes the whole way.

You know you shouldn't, you do, but you really can't help yourself. Somehow everything she does is just so _beautiful_. It'd be annoying if it wasn't so mesmerizing. Once the door clicks shut again you focus your gaze on the ceiling. There's really nothing to see there, but you reckon it'd be weird and awkward if she came back and found you staring at the door. So instead you keep your eyes on the ceiling and let yourself wonder.

How did it come to this? If anyone had told you that within three weeks you'd find yourself crushing on Quinn Fabray, befriending over being bullied and have her help you out after yet another slushie attack you probably would kindly have suggested they see a shrink.

The door squeaks as it is opened once again and Quinn walks in with your change of clothes. She places them in yet another sink, then turns to you and turns off the water. You immediately miss the comfort of it cascading down your skull. She motions for you to sit up slightly and you both stay silent as she dries your hair with a towel before plugging in the hair-dryer. Minutes pass in silence as the tends to your hair and your insides hurt with the need to connect with her. On whatever level. But you don't know how, and thus can't gather the courage to try anything.

The silence that follows when the hair-dryer is turned off again is deafening. She pulls out the plug and lays the item in the sink with all your hair products.

You both stay silent for an awkward moment before she clears her throat.

"So, let's get you out of those terrible things."

You stand on shaking legs and you're nothing if not surprised that you actually stay _standing_. You look over at your clothes in the sink and suddenly it really gets through to you that this is happening. That you're about to undress in front of your unrequited crush, who just happens to be the HBIC of McKinley High and your former tormentor.

Cue panic attack.

You don't remember how to breathe so you stop breathing alltogether. The vice grip on your heart has returned and you feel like it will pulverize, or just disintegrate into nothing. Your legs quiver even harder and you're pretty sure you're about to hit the floor when cold fingertips graze the skin on your waist.

Air rushes back into your lungs as you gasp and all but leap away from her.

She's still standing with her arms slightly outstretched, a look of utter shock and disbelief on her face. There is also a shadow of hurt.

"What the hell, Berry?' You shift your weight to your other leg and nervously finger the hem of your sweater.

"I - I'm sorry - I just - didn't expect it and jumped a little."

Her arms fall back to her sides and she raises an eyebrow at you. _Oh please don't do that._

"A _little_? Rachel, you reacted like I was a rapist jumping you!"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that if that had been the case I would have screamed. You know I have been very well educated on what one should do when confronted with a rapist. First of all, one should -"

"Berry!"

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, I - I'm sorry."

She looks at your embarrassed figure amusedly before stepping forward. Searching your face for eye contact she slowly raises her hands again. You can feel them rest on your sweater. They're not really lying on your body but you can feel them anyway.

"Let me help?" her voice is like a ghost, barely more than a whisper, and butterflies erupt at the sound of it. Your eyes, now brave, seek out hers and silently communicate your consent. She smiles softly before lifting the sweater over your head.

You wouldn't have been surprised if a horrible, sloshing sound would have accompanied it, but the whole affair happens rather silently. Apart from a small intake of breath and a soft "Oh, Rachel…"

As soon as your arms are free you move to wrap them around yourself, but Quinn is faster and grabs your wrists as she looks at you. You've never felt more exposed in your life.

You're standing before her in a bra, and you know your entire torso is covered in different colours, having become visible as the drops ran down your body and came to a halt when the water was extracted from the syrup by your sweater, making the substance too dense to keep traveling down. Not to forget the goosebumps.

And she just looks at you. _Please don't look at me like that. Please._ You beg her with your eyes,

And she steps into you.

Her hands let go of your wrists and circle your waist. One hand stays at your lower back, the other travels up and comes to a rest at the base of your neck as she pulls you into an embrace.

Her warmth envelopes you. Your heart is beating its way out of your chest and your thoughts are running a mile a minute when she buries her face in your neck. Shivers run down your spine faster than you ever thought possible and your goosebumps are amplified. Every sense is stronger than ever before and your nerve endings are on fire. Then you hear her speak and your lungs run empty at the feel of her breath and her lips moving against your skin.

"I'm so sorry."

It's barely audible, but it's there.

"I'm so sorry."

She repeats it like a mantra and every time she says it it cuts you deeper until you can't bear it anymore and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer. Mirroring her, you too bury your face in her neck and murmur "It's okay."

You respond to every singe one of her broken pleas and every time you do, she holds you tighter.

She smells like the sea. A salty fresh and a gust of wind. It's a scent you can't explain. It's not like the sea has a distinct scent, it's just that she smells like it. It's calming. It suits her.

After a while the apologies stop, and so do your responses, so you're just left holding each other, both content and reluctant to pull away. You don't know how long you've been standing like this, when the sound of someone trying to open the door fills the room. The spell is broken and you quickly let go of each other. Thank god Quinn locked the door. You can't remember when she did, you don't remember seeing her lock it, but you're certain it wasn't you, so that leaves just her.

The meddling with the door is replaced by a fist passionately pounding the door.

"Who the hell locked this door? Seriously, you better open this thing right up about now or I swear not even your own mother will recognize you!" Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Calm down Lopez, it's just me and Berry." She looks over at you, an unreadable expression on her face.

"What? _Berry?_ What the hell is she doing in there with you? No, wait. Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know. I'll never be able to enter _any_ of those bathrooms again if you and the hobbit -"

"Santana, behave yourself! Seriously, what are you even thinking?!" As soon as Santana's intent became clear Quinn's eyes had flared up in anger.

It had been an beautiful emotion to grace her features.

After a second though, the walls were back up. They hadn't been there the entire time, but here they are, protecting her with a mask of indifference and annoyance. There is not a trace of genuine emotion left on her face. Now, looking back at it, you wonder whether you should feel hurt by the raw anger that Quinn had showed when Santana implied that they'd been doing the dirty in here.

Hadn't it meant that she was gravely insulted?

_Whoa, ouch that hurts._

_We're not _that_ bad, are we?_

_God, I hope not. Things were just going so well…_

"Berry. Berry!" Quinn tries to get your attention and you shake your head as if to shake off the thoughts. Apparently Santana left at some point and now Quinn is standing in front of you with a wet towel and a dry one. Once she sees she has your attention she holds out the wet one for you to clean yourself up with. She waits patiently until you're done before holding out the dry towel and taking back the damp one. She turns to put it away and before you're done returns with your two sweaters. There is still slushie dripping from one.

She hands you the new sweater and holds up the other.

"What do you want to do with this one?"

You don't even have to look at it to know it's a lost cause.

"Just throw it in the trash can," you answer her. She frowns a bit at you before looking at the sweater and deciding that you're right.

"Why do you wear these anyway?" she questions as she deposits the sweater in the trash. You do your best not to scoff. When she turns around you give her a sad little smile and spread your hands, indicating the situation.

"Because of this."

For the second time this day you find yourself in her arms, and again she's buried in your neck pleading, _begging_ you to forgive her. Again you wrap your arms around her and again you tell her it's okay.

"I never would have thought you for a hugger," you murmur in her hair after she's calmed down again.

"I'm not," is the muffled answer and you smile against her.

"I guess I just bring it out in people then."

"Well, you _are_ a rather comfortable size for hugging."

You gasp in mock offense. "Quinn Fabray, you did _not_ just bring my height into this conversation!"

She pulls away from you, smiling, no, smirking even. You stand like this for a couple of seconds, both holding each other, arms loosely around the other's waist, still joined at the hip, your faces ten inches away from each other, smiling goofily. Then she leans forward, still smirking.

Your brain needs a moment.

This cannot be happening. This _can not_ be _happening_.

You're paralyzed.

Her lips graze your skin.

"I totally did though." Then she's out the door.

* * *

**A/N: Good day to you, kind reader, thank you for reading my lovely little story! Reviews are greatly appreciated, and please, if you notice something, anything that needs editing, like missing words of stoopid typos, please don't hesitate to tell me. I want to make this reading experience as pleasant for you as possible, and personally, errors like typos, bad punctuation or incorrect grammar bother me. So please tell me if you come across any.**

**Or just tell me what you think of it, that'd be awesome as well ^^  
**

**Oh, and I'll try and update regularly form now on, possibly once a week or every ten days or so. I profusely apologise for the month long gap that happened this summer.  
**


	8. Appointments

**Ludovico Einaudi - Fly : /watch?v=2Ff0PGN1ID8 (Really, if you need me to tell you where to put that, something went very wrong when you discovered the internet. **_**Very**_** wrong.)**

* * *

You're left a mess. No, not even a mess, you have shattered and all of your fragments just evaporated. You are no longer part of this world. Or at least, that's what it feels like. You stand in the bathroom, frozen, afraid than when you move, you might just wake up. From the corner of your eye you can still see the chair next to the sink, the hair-dryer and bottles of hair-product peeking out of the sink next to it, and another sink away a towel is discarded. Your ruined sweater's sleeve still peeks out of the trash can. This is not a view you've never seen before, yet somehow, this time, everything seems different. You feel like every single one of your senses is on high alert.

You see _everything,_ you smell every smell that lingers in the room, including that of the sea, you can hear the birds outside chirp, a sound that you know has been present all this time, but only now is brought to your attention.

You can still feel her lips on your cheek.

Then, out of nothing, the dream collapses. Suddenly you no longer feel like you're floating yet held to the ground by the lead in your limbs, your senses regain their normal functions and the world seems dull.

Thoughtlessly you begin gathering your stuff and leave the room.

You feel nothing.

No, you feel _so much_ that the world pales in comparison, like everything just became average or even below that. Not even the legendary performance you put on with Kurt and Mercedes brings back the life in things for you.

Because, really, what can ever top having felt Quinn's lips on your skin?

Exactly.

* * *

The results of your history test are in. You heard two people say so in the library, so from that moment on, your life was over. You made your way to the classroom, where you immediately noticed the stack of papers on Mr Tibbings' desk, and sat down at your usual spot on the second row.

By the time he started handing back your tests, you just wanted to quit everything.

It's not in the nature of a Berry to be mediocre at something. _Anything._

Yet here you are, sitting behind your desk, mentally lighting your teacher on fire. In the top right corner of the paper in your hand a C- mocks you, insults you.

Once you're sure that imagination!Tibbings is no longer among the living you dare look around you.

The class is drowning in a state of chaos. Everyone's walking around, yelling to the other end of the room before heading over there to see what the others got. They try to seem genuinely interested, but really, they just want to see who and how many people they beat. You despise it.

In one of the back seats you find Brittany and Santana hugging each other, bright smiles on their faces. Santana breaks away, grabs a paper from Brittany's desk, lovingly shoves it in the blondes face and hugs her again tightly once she's removed the paper from her face.

Brittany catches you looking at them and pulls away from Santana again, who immediately glares at you. Brittany picks up the paper, holds it up for you to see and beams at you.

A B+ proudly stands in the top corner. She point at it, then at herself and mouths '_Superman_' to you before throwing her arms back around Santana, who holds her tightly in response and in a moment of weakness winks at you happily.

You can't help but smile at the two fondly. Really, those two were made for each other.

Still, in the back of your mind a voice keeps telling you that Brittany is super sweet and all that, but she's not the brightest. As much as you love the girl, a B+ is simply out of her league. So how did she get it?

Your gaze wanders back to Santana again, and within a second you have decided that you _will_ figure out their cheating method, no matter the cost.

Life by now has returned to its original slur. Now that your alliance with Kurt and Mercedes has come to an end, due to the assignment doing so (which you _won_, obviously), you're back to fighting them for solos.

Except for your new-found obsession with the Brittana cheating method (you are really proud of your mix-up of their names, you think it's brilliant), everything is back to normal.

Oh, and of course the actual genuine smiles you and Quinn exchange nowadays. That's new as well.

But that has no real priority at the moment. You will not stand idly by while students tempt to wreck the schooling system by cheating, while people like yourself work their way to success. You simply will not.

It takes you three weeks and seven more tests to figure it out.

Their method only works for the multiple choice questions, but considering the inspiration-less teachers, most of the tests _are_ multiple choice.

Brittany taps her fingers twice to get Santana's attention, then waits five seconds, after which the taps the number of the question she wants to know the answer to. Santana then answers with tapping once for A, twice for B and so on.

It's a devastatingly simple concept, but it took you so long to decipher because the taps were so light that they were barely audible. You had to move to the back row to sit behind Santana to hear them at _all._ The teacher sitting in his chair never stood a chance.

The feeling of triumph is indescribable, and you can't help but smirk superiorly when you corner them in the bathroom.

"I have figured it out," you boast happily. The two cheerios in front of the mirror halt the re-applying of their make-up and frown at each other before turning to face you.

"What the hell are you talking about, hobbit?" Santana asks you impatiently. You're impressed that that she hasn't started tapping her foot yet.

Ha. Tapping. Accurate.

"Your cheating method," you explain yourself, "I have figured it out."

You're on top of the world and nothing can bring you down. Not even the way Santana seems to be able to start spewing fire any second now. She seems to realize that doing as she would like would only sell her out, so she reels herself back in and only scoffs at you.

"Cheating method," she mocks you, "What the hell are you even talking about, Ru Paul?" Ah, so now she's trying to convince you that there is no such thing as a cheating method. Well, she should have known that _that's_ not going to work.

"Oh, Santana, do us all a favor and don't even try to deny it. All of us know that Brittany could never have gotten such high scores on her own. And I'm not judging you, I merely thought that you deserved to know before I went and informed the school board of this mediocre, despicable and above all unfair method of obtaining higher grades. So if you'll both please excuse me, I should be going now."

You turn to leave but before you've even moved a step forward to the door Santana has moved in front of it and is now blocking your way out. You're trapped inside the bathroom.

Yeah, you hadn't thought of that yet.

"You're going nowhere, manhands. Don't even think for a second that I'm just going to let you do that to B."

"But San, the hasn't even told us what could happen." She turns to you. "That's what you wanted to do, right? You just said so yourself."

You hear Santana sigh lightly.

"They can suspend you, B. But that's not the thing I'm worried about. If they know how we play they'll never let us sit close enough again. You'll fail your exams if that happens, B. You'll never get out of this shithole."

Brittany's face falls and Santana looks at you enraged.

"You happy now? You made the sweetest girl in Ohio sad. Satisfied?"

You look at the hopeless face of Brittany, while Santana starts spewing Spanish you don't think you even want to understand. This was not how it was supposed to happen! You hurriedly put your hands in the air and take a step back.

"No, no, Santana, calm yourself! I never really wanted to tell on you! I just needed some leverage!" At this Santana quiets down and looks at you with a mix of confusion, irritation and rage.

"I wanted to make sure you couldn't just shoot me down when I asked you for help." Now you're almost sure Santana is about to go into Spanish mode again because of her confusion.

"I need you to help me with my history," you explain to her. That seems to calm her down a bit. Wait, now she's starting to smirk.

_What did I say? What did I _say_?_

"Your _history_, Berry? What, are you having trouble deleting it so your daddies won't find out about your creepy little fetishes? Well, if that's the case, I think you'd better go see Jewfro. After all, he's got the worst fetishes in all of Ohio, if not the entire US." You immediately regret your not adding the word 'tests' to your sentence.

You turn five different shades of red and scurry to set right your mistake.

"God, Santana, _no!_ Not by browser history! I'll have you know that my browser history is absolutely clear of such websites. I can assure you I have no needs for such things. I meant our history classes. I couldn't help but notice you got an A on last week's test and - " _God, Rachel, just say it. Don't give her the satisfaction! _ " - I need your help getting better grades. I need you to tutor me."

As you see her smile growing even bigger you hastily add: "But don't think for a second I will hesitate to go to the school board. Because I will."

Her smirk stops its growth at this, but doesn't leave her face. She looks positively evil.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

_Don't ask me, girl, this was never my idea to begin with. This is all on you._

_Oh, you liar! We decided that this was for the best together!_

_Yeah, the tutoring part, but asking _Santana Lopez_? That's just for people with a death wish._

Before you have the chance to say anything in your defense, Brittany has grabbed you by the arm and is now squealing with joy.

_Wait, what?_

"You're joining our little study group? That's awesome Rach! San, San, can't she join? It'll be fun!" God bless this girl. God bless her. She just saved you from probably the most humiliating experience in your life, and that includes getting thrown up on during Britney week.

Santana's eyes twitch in a glaring manner for a second, but then cracks an actual _smile. _You never thought you'd live to see the day.

"Well, Berry, I must day that there's some fire in you! With practice we could just about mould you to be the second me!" You think you'll pass.

"We have our little study group on Sundays."

She doesn't even look at you as she turns to walk out again. Brittany hurries to catch up with her. She waves at you before stepping out of the door. You run after them.

"Wait, where do I go? And what time should I be there?"

"Fabray mansion, dwarf! Be there at twelve!"

You stop dead.

Well, at least it's not Satan's house.

* * *

It's Friday, and you haven't been able to shake your anxiousness ever since Santana told you the study group was to be held at Quinn's. You've never gone to her house before. Naturally you know where she lives, all of Lima does, but the idea of going _inside_ there scares the life out of you. You've heard about the Fabray family from your parents and their lack of acceptance. Yes, Russell and Judy Fabray have been divorced for quite some time now, but who is to say her mother is any better?

What if you'll have to give up this new-found friendship between you and Quinn because her mother won't let her associate with the daughter of Lima's only gay couple? Maybe that's why Quinn never asked you to come over.

_Hey, don't you think you're going a bit fast here? I mean, yes, you've gotten closer and she's no longer a threat, but I wouldn't say you're _friends_ really._

_It's all a matter of time, my friend. Patience. All good things to those who wait._

_Don't you throw Disney quotes at me!_

_Oh, please, that is an universally known phrase. It's perfectly normal._

_Are you sure?_

_No, but I'm ... 83% sure it is._

_Anyway, that was not the point. The point was that you're going overboard with your conspiracy theories considering why you've never been to Quinn's._

_I am hardly going overboard. I wouldn't be surprised if that was to be the case. With what I've heard of the Fabrays I'm surprised Quinn turned out to be as lovely as she is._

_Control yourself. Please._

_What, don't even try to deny it. You know it's true._

_... Fair enough._

Someone dropping their books shakes you from your thoughts.

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall tells you that it's ten past two. Almost time for break. You mark the page of the book you had been reading and start gathering the rest of your stuff.

This period had been a free one, so you'd gone to the auditorium for a while to sing your little heart out and practice your piano skills a bit. You're learning to play a song of this new artist you've recently discovered, Ludovico Einaudi. His music is a bit dreamy and sad, and you love it.

You think it's calming.

The song you're learning is called Fly, and it's really not that difficult, but you don't think people shouldn't choose their numbers on what is most difficult, but on what they think is most beautiful.

Difficulty should never be a factor, unless it is of course for an audition.

After you felt you were done in the auditorium you'd moved to the library, where you first made the homework your teacher had given you the period before, before taking out a copy of The Help.

The bell rings and all around you people rise as one and move out of the door. You take your time packing, as you're a firm believer of finishing the entire hour. All those people that pack before the bell rings and then sit in their seats, tapping their foot in impatience until they're allowed to leave never fail to irritate you. You nod to the lady behind the desk and move out into the hallways.

You have one period left, biology. Not your forte, but you enjoy it nevertheless. The human body intrigues you. It amazes you how everything can co-exist in such harmony and how everything _works together._ It brings out the kid in you. That's why you kept it in the first place.

As you make your way to your locker you notice two jocks supporting two large plastic cups and you quickly glance around for a possible escape. The halls are filled, but not packed enough to disappear in. The nearest corner is past the jocks, so that's not really an option either. You sigh.

And you had been so ready for breaking your record of slushie-free days.

"Hey, Berry, wait up!"

You see the jocks' faces fall and you don't think you've ever been more relieved to hear the husky voice of the blonde girl now entering your vision. She's smiling brightly at you as she takes to your pace.

Before she continues talking you see her eyes flit to the jocks ahead, who have by now raised the cups to their lips to conceal any harmful intentions.

"So Brit told me you'll be coming over on Sunday, huh? Do you know where I live?" She seems genuinely interested in hearing your answer. So you nod at her.

"Of course I do. I actually believe it's considered a crime not knowing where the Fabrays live in Lima."

Her smile widens at this and she casts her eyes down to the floor, clearly embarrassed but entertained. A slight pink creeps up her cheeks, and she clears her throat before speaking again, still not looking up at you.

"Yeah, well, that was in the Russell era, I'm afraid. People don't look up that much to us any more now."

"Of course they do. The Fabrays still house Quinn Fabray, queen bee of McKinley High. That must count for something?" She blushes some more and readjusts her bag. What is this, are you actually seeing the shy Quinn here? It's a miracle.

You continue talking as a peace offering.

"Santana told me to be there at twelve, should I, or was it another plan of hers to embarrass me?" She laughs lightly, rolling her eyes before locking them on yours. The hazel seems to be swimming with happy lights, tinting them a lighter green than they usually seem. They look like the leaves during spring.

"Nah, it's safe. Twelve's the time, though Santana and Brittany are usually a little later, for reasons I'm sure I don't want to know." Your nose scrunches up on its own accord before accentuating the enormous smile that takes over your face.

The bell rings, and hazel breaks away from you as they turn to look at the time. Before you can say anything she's slightly skipping ahead of you, turning back to look at you.

"I'll see you on Sunday then! Looking forward to it!" She shoots you another toothy smile and then turns to break into a little jogging pace as she makes her way through the masses of students, disappearing from your sight.

You follow her lead and start jogging a little yourself, you still have to change your books after all. This is done at lightning speed, seriously, record time there, and you make it to your biology class just in time. Your seat's still open, but you can't say you're surprised, really. It's on the front row.

You plop down and dump your books on your desk. As the teacher turns his back to the class to write on the blackboard your phone vibrates.

**Do you like cupcakes? Xx Q**

This girl is going to be the death of you.

**As long as they're vegan. Xx**

**I believe that should be manageable. I can't promise you all of them will be though. After all, vegan? It may be poisonous. ;) Xx**

Like you said; the death of you.

* * *

**A/N: Good day to you, kind reader! So, yeah, this was a semi-quick update, lucky you, no? Sadly enough, I am currently plagued by a writer's block, and it's bad. I've got the general plot, but still, for some reason, nothing is coming out. For that reason, the next chapter will be updated in 10 days instead of next Friday, meaning it will be the Wednesday after.**

**Bear with me, my friend, we'll get through this! (Ò^Ó)b**

**Oh, and again, please tell me if you come across any errors, whether they're typos or grammatical. I want to fix them, because they bother me in other people's fics. So please do. (or just tell me what you thought of it, that'd be nice ^^)  
**


	9. Meeting

**Infected Mushroom - Suliman : /watch?v=cGA35I6GnEE (you know where to put it, also imagine that the first time Rachel opens the iPod it's somewhere around 4:23)**

**Infected Mushroom - Heavyweight : /watch?v=h4YvkZeLrjs (same)**

* * *

The building is _huge_. Yes, you expected grandness on your way here, but this just exceeds every expectation you had beforehand.

The house seems to have its own little parking lot. With Quinn's red beetle and what you assume is her mother's silver BMW already there, there seems to be room for at least three more cars.

When you walk down the parking lot you're met by a gate and an intercom. Luckily the gate is already open so you won't have to embarrass yourself by stuttering into the intercom.

You push the gate open a bit further and start your way down the gravel path to the front door, which is placed up a porch. A wooden bench and table stand next to it.

The house itself is a creamy white, making it hard to see whether it's a white or yellow base. The paint covers the bricks flawlessly, creating a smooth surface. The only irregularities are the windows, easily two meters in length and two foot in width each, framed by white wood, a subtle but clear contrast to the cream coloured walls.

A worn grey coloured wood forms the porch and its furniture. The roof is a light grey, and the door a rich dark brown.

You're positively shaking when you press your finger to the doorbell.

Once the jingle has finished it hits you that you're actually going to do this. You clutch the brownies a little tighter to your chest. Despite Quinn's repeated assuring that it really wasn't necessary, you still felt obligated to bring something for both her and her mother.

Whoever is supposed to answer the door is taking their time. Nervously you glance at your watch. Ten to twelve. Well, that should be right, shouldn't it? Sure, you're ten minutes early, but considering that you usually show up half an hour early to appointments to nullify any delays you might run into on your way, you're practically running late.

Oh dear, what if it's a prank, and Quinn, Santana and Brittany and who knows else are sitting somewhere, drinking coffee and cracking up over the fact that Rachel Berry is currently standing in front of Fabray mansion, which has been desolate since the divorce because her mother couldn't pay for it? You don't think you'd survive.

At that moment you hear someone fumbling with the lock and you almost have to sit down from relief. The door is pulled open and reveals Quinn in sweatpants, a tank top and a towel on her head. She looks rather flushed.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to answer the door." She opens it a bit further and steps aside so that you can come in. Once you're inside she steps past you and closes the door again.

"I just got out of the shower from my morning run, so it took me a little longer than usual." She rubs the towel over her hair in an attempt to dry it while you shake off your coat.

"Oh, please, let me," she says as she holds out her hand. You hand her the coat and she smiles at your before hanging the towel over her shoulder and grabbing a hanger to put your coat on.

As she turns around to you again you hold out the bin of brownies you are holding. She takes it, frowning curiously, a small smile on her lips, and removes the lid. The frown disappears and the smile widens.

"Really, Rachel, you shouldn't have," her eyes flick up to yours, nervously, gratefully.

"I wanted to," you answer. You really did. Especially after Quinn had mentioned muffins. She smiles at your answer before closing the bin again.

"Thank you." You really don't know why she's suddenly this bashful. It's completely unlike her usual self and way too adorable. It's bad for your health with the way it's making your heart flutter.

As she brushes past you she puts her hand on your upper arm as encouragement to follow her along. "Come in," she tells you, and you're led out of the little hallway you'd been standing in, into the living room.

It stretches out to your right, with the stairs right across from where you're standing, and an open wall, though framed by glass that leads to the kitchen on your left. The floor is a dark wood, as are the stairs, and the walls are a warm beige. Even though both are a tint of brown the room doesn't seem dark at all.

In the corner farthest away on the street side stand two couches, a love-seat and what you like to call a grandpa chair, because your grandfather used to sit in one of those chairs with round armrests. They're all placed around a coffee table on a creamy rug that looks _really_ soft. Across the coffee table is the television, which, almost needless to say, is huge.

There is a large cabinet with doors of glass in it that houses more different bottles of alcohol than you could ever have imagined and the glasses from which they are to be drunk. Next to it stands a rack where several bottles of wine lay on their side, and next to that is a lovely large collection of books, lined up on shelves hanging on the wall. You almost squeal at what you lay eyes on next.

Quinn follows your line of sight and can't help but chuckle a little. You whip around.

"How-" You weakly point at the grand piano standing in front of the window.

"The house was already paid off, and when my mother's name appeared on the papers we got to keep it, along with everything inside. My mother is now working to pay for the bills and the food, but without the mortgage, life's a lot easier than it could have been."

She smiles at you and waves for you to follow her. Before you make your way up the stairs you take a peek into the kitchen, which is really not that difficult, because the wall that should be there is practically gone, and where you can't walk through is glass, leaving the kitchen in plain sight. Your bin is sitting on the kitchen island next to two plates full of the promised muffins, but also cookies, slices of apple and mango and other fruits.

You'd better plan another workout this evening.

She takes you upstairs and down the hallway, until she stops at the third door. "I'm really sorry about the mess, I didn't really plan on bringing anyone upstairs today, evidently, but I didn't think that leaving you downstairs was the proper thing to do, so," she opens the door, revealing a rather plain room with a double bed to the right wall, a desk next to the door on the left and across the bed on the lifer wall a board full of pictures. There is a door to the left of the headboard of the bed. "Welcome to my room."

She steps in and walks to the door next to the bed. You slowly step into the room as well. It feels strange to be stepping into Quinn's room, like it's a secret that must be kept and guarded with your life. You swear there and then that you will. It will be your secret, your treasure and you will cherish it and protect it against anything that threatens it.

She steps to the door opening and turns to you.

"Make yourself at home, I'll be just a minute." Then she's gone.

You stand in the middle of the room for a moment, unsure of what to do. As you look around you notice that you're immediately drawn to the wall of pictures. Hesitantly you walk over to the wall.

You see pictures of Quinn from pretty much all the stages of her life. Toddler, elementary schooler, middle- and high school. There are pictures of her mother, both with and without Quinn, pictures of and with Santana and Brittany and glee club.

There are also pictures of people you have never seen before, mostly close-ups. Of their hands, faces or silhouettes. Some photographs don't show anyone at all.

They show trees, shadows, water and reflections, a street with the tail-lights of a lone car driving through a heavy rainstorm, or just blurry colours. You find them fascinating. Somehow, they convey emotions, all different kinds, and they mesmerise you.

Your eyes rake over the wall again, frequently touching a photograph for a reason you don't really know, until they linger on a couple of black and white ones. At first they seemed abstract, random areas of black, gray and white spread across a surface, but as you look at them a bit harder, you see that they're of Quinn.

Your heart rate picks up as you lock onto one where she's looking straight at the camera, her entire face a silhouette, with a streak of light randomly across it. The background consists of blurry strokes of black and white. They remind you of a tree.

Her eyes are calm, but intense, her entire face at peace, but they stand out strikingly in the black of her face, and they seem you be looking right into your soul.

Without you even noticing you lift your hand to touch the picture. Your hand lingers on it as you stare at it and you feel yourself get lost in it. It's so lively, so pure, you doubt you'll ever see anything that captures _Quinn_ so perfectly. You've almost removed it from the wall when you hear her speak.

"What do you think of them?"

Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but too distinct to be one.

She's leaning against the door frame, her hair dry and fixed, eyes fixed on the wall. You don't know how long she's been standing there, how much she's seen and your insides twist on their own accord. A feeling somewhat like panic courses through your veins, but in a way it's too calm a feeling to feel as uncomfortable as panic does. Her face is expressionless as she watches you jump and and retreat your hand. She pushes off the wall and walks over to you, yet her eyes don't seem you register you at all. Slowly, she lifts her hand and touches her fingertips to the photo you almost took off the wall.

"I didn't know you were into photography," you tell her quietly, not really knowing that to say. She smiles a little.

"Almost no-one does. To pretty much everyone I'm just head cheerio, and that's about as much as there is to me."

"I don't think you are only head cheerio." It's a whisper, because it feels like too intimate a thing to say in anything but one.

Her smile widens a little and she looks at you. "Still, I thought you'd go for my iPod first thing." She nods to something over your shoulder and you turn around to find her iPod plugged into a BOSE station. You hadn't even noticed it yet.

So you shrug.

"I didn't see it," you tell her honestly, "And I can't quite explain it. This seems more… _you…_" Your eyes squint, brows furrow and your lips purse while you look at her and hope that she knows what you mean.

If she does, she's not giving you any indication.

As you search her features, study her, she just keeps looking at you, _seeing_ you. You feel extremely exposed under her gaze once again and the fluttering of your heart isn't bringing you any comfort either.

She's standing maybe two foot away from you, but it's too close.

It's too personal, too intimate, the way she's looking at you.

Like she can see everything, find your best hidden secrets and have them unravel themselves for her.

You have no doubt that they would if she asked it of them.

The roles have now reversed, and _she's_ the one studying you, while you simply watch her as she does so. You watch her eyes search your face, flit from one point to the next, watch her eyelids drop a little when she finds something, and watch the muscle work as she clenches and unclenches her jaw.

_God, she's so beautiful._

Her eyes land on yours and linger there. You can see every bit of green, every speck of gold that lines her pupils.

A heavy feeling drops in your chest, one you recognize as longing. You don't think you've ever felt it this strong before, the longing to reach out and touch another person. It's been there with Finn, but never this bad, this desperate. Never so overwhelming that you have to close your eyes to fight it.

"They're beautiful," you breathe, opening your eyes again, a late answer to her original question. They immediately seek out hers, like magnets, and you lock on each other. "All of them."

Your voice feels foreign to you, alien as it makes its way up your throat. Your mouth has run dry and you feel the need to swallow. Instead, your tongue darts out and wets your lower lip.

She blinks and forces her eyes away from you to rest on the wall of photographs.

"I'm glad you think so. I hope to make it my profession one day." As she says it, her eyes lighten up and she can't suppress the smile that forces its way onto her lips. She looks at you again, and you can feel the heaviness in your chest melt and evaporate under her gaze. You smile at her.

"I don't think it'll pose much of a challenge," you assure her.

She laughs. "That's too bad. I like a challenge, keeps me motivated."

"I know exactly what you mean. What's the fun in winning when there was no competition, right?"

"Oh, I don't think you mind all that much," she laughs, "You seem to be enjoying your victories in glee quite a lot, even though no-one there poses a real threat."

You squint your eyes playfully and cock your head.

"Do I detect a compliment in that sentence?"

She quirks an eyebrow and brushes past you, her hands clasped together behind her back.

"Maybe," she muses, and then skips out the door. You laugh out loud and call your thank you to the door before grabbing the iPod from the station and taking it downstairs with you.

The selected playlist is called 'running', which doesn't surprise you at all. When you select 'currently playing', a coverless song appears called Suliman by Infected Mushroom. On your way down the stairs you fumble to find your earbuds and plug in the iPod. The volume that enters your ears physical throws you back and with a surprised yelp you jerk out the buds. You land on the stairs with a thud.

Quinn appears on the bottom of the stairs with a half-full glass of orange juice and the carton where it came from in the other hand.

"Are you okay," she asks you, "What happened?"

You're still sitting on the stairs shell-shocked, the iPod in one hand and the buds in the other. You weakly lift them for Quinn to see.

"I - i-it just - the volume - I couldn't -" you stammer.

Quinn looks at you for a couple of seconds before she bursts out laughing. That gets you out of shock just fine.

"What are you laughing at?" you yell at her while you get up on your feet again. Really, the nerve, how dare she. Quinn by now has set down her glass and the carton and is holding herself upright with the staircase as she can't seem to catch her breath.

"I could have permanent damage to my hearing! I would have never been able to make it on Broadway! Or you! _You_ could have permanent damage to your hearing! How is it you're not deaf yet? _Stop laughing at me!"_

As hard as you try, and you're _really_ trying, her laughing is infectious and your accusations don't sound half as serious as they actually are because you're struggling to keep yourself from laughing with her. She tries to stand upright and say something to you, but she fails miserably and flails her arm in your direction as she bends double again.

"Stop _laughing!"_

Extremely frustrated you stamp your foot.

This brings her laughing fit to a whole new level. Where before she sounded just like she was having an uncontrollable giggle fit, she has now thrown back her head and is honest-to-god _cackling_. Just like you usually do.

You've had it.

You make your way to the couches and pick up one of the pillows. Quinn notices you and her laughter dies down a little. She points her finger at you.

"No, Rachel, do-"

The pillow hits her right in the face. She grabs it before it can fall to the ground and looks at you with what you're sure is supposed to be a stern face. The gleeful glint in her eyes betrays her. You can't stop the grin from spreading across your face as you reach behind you to grab another pillow, your eyes never leaving her. You know that as soon as you take your eyes off her, you're in for it.

"I swear Rachel, my mother will _kill me_ if you ruin them."

"I never planned on that, so I think we'll be fine," you tell her playfully. You never thought you'd ever be the one to challenge Quinn Fabray. Slowly you lift the pillow.

" Rachel... Rachel - _Rach, no._" But it's already flying. Before it's crossed the room to its target it's knocked out of the air, and you can just see Quinn emerging from behind the two pillows now falling to the ground before she jumps the distance to you.

You shriek and hastily grab for another pillow and in a fluid motion you swing it at her. When it hits her she grabs it and using the momentum she easily pries it from your fingers. A slightly evil smirk spreads across her face.

"Oh, you've done it now, Berry."

You let out a yelp and shoot away from her, past the couch, grabbing yet another pillow in your passing, and past the coffee table, effectively putting it between you and your pursuer. You stare each other down, both waiting for an opening.

The smirk is still on her lips and you're on the way to forming an identical one. She's ducked her head lower, and her arms are spread from her sides. She looks positively predatory, and if you hadn't been so busy with planning an escape, you probably would have become weak in the knees, and not from fear. You see her tongue run over her lower lip in a pink flash before she bites down on it and you're completely caught off guard.

Forget about the escape plan, quit everything, because _she just licked her lip_ while staring you down. You have died and gone to hell, there is no other explanation.

Quinn sees the opening and quicker than you can blink she's tackled you to the couch, shocking you out of your rather embarrassing state of mind.

You yelp in surprise and laugh again heartily. Hers is contagious after all. She squeezes you briefly before sitting up and pinning you down. A triumphant grin graces her features. She looks at you for a moment before quickly raising her eyebrows and inclining her head.

"I win."

Your insides churn, your eyes lose focus for a second and you barely suppress a whimper.

Then the moves off you and lies down next to you. You have no idea what to say. All you can think about is her and how everything you two seem to do at some point becomes loaded with _tension_. Yes, tension in _italics_.

The image of her licking her bottom lip pops back into your mind and you let out a shaky breath as you feel your insides clench once more. This just became so much more serious than you ever planned on it getting.

You sense movement and turn to look at Quinn, who has lulled her head sideways and is now looking at you with a smile and happy Brittany eyes.

She nods to the stairs.

"It's a really good song though," she says.

"You should really turn the volume down though," you mimic her.

Her smile widens and she stands up from the couch with a grunt. The walks to the staircase and returns with the iPod and earbuds. They drop in your lap as Quinn lets herself fall down onto the couch again.

You eye them suspiciously.

"It's safe," she tells you, "I turned down the volume just now. You should listen to it with some real volume though, it really works for the number."

You nod your okay and put in the buds.

It's music that mostly consists of a beat in the beginning, and only later do the guitar and voices really join in. The beat stays though, making it a strong, upbeat song that's pretty much perfect for running or just workouts in general. You skip through the playlist a little, coming across many different kinds of genres. There are soundtracks, electronic, rock and even some dub- and chillstep. You come across Heavyweight, also by Infected Mushroom, so that immediately catches your attention and as you listen to the different phases in the number you realize that you don't think this music is that bad. It's different from what you usually listen to, completely different, but it's good music.

You can feel her eyes on you the whole time.

* * *

Once the doorbell rings the iPod is quickly discarded and you disappear upstairs to get your bag. You left it there when Quinn took you upstairs after you arrived.

God, that sounds so wrong.

When you come back down again you find the three cheerios standing at the kitchen island, all peering at something you can't see. It quickly becomes evident what they're looking at when you hear Santana say "Do you think it's edible?"

You roll your eyes at the comment and drop your bag soundly, making your presence known. All three girls look up at you and Brittany squeals. The taller cheerio skips her way down to you and lifts you off the ground in a bear-hug.

"Rachel!" she calls out excitedly, "I'm so glad you came! This means we're all friends now, right?" She twirls around with you still dangling off the floor in her arms to look at the other girls.

With a little effort you can turn enough to see Quinn smile amusedly and nod her head. Santana shrugs and mumbles something that looks like 'whatever' from where you're standing.

You'll settle for 'whatever'. At least she's not denying it, but then again, who could possibly deny Brittany _anything_? Especially Santana.

You can see Quinn nudge her and Santana swats at her arm, after which Quinn raises her hands in the air, feigning innocence.

Yeah, you're their friend, officially now.

That realization brightens you up completely and you cling to Brittany a little tighter, who laughs at you and starts spinning in circles. It takes you almost fainting from laughter and the lack of oxygen it ensued and a jealous Santana for her to put you down. You're still dizzy and wobbly on your legs from laughing, but somehow you make your way to the couches, where the trio has already settled with all the food from the kitchen.

That reminds you.

"Oh, Santana, those are perfectly edible. I even went out of my way and prepared some non-vegan ones. They're on the red and blue side." (the bin that contains them has four different coloured corners)

She picks one out of the box and eyes is suspiciously. Before she's dared to put her teeth in it, Brittany has snatched it from her hand and swallowed half of it.

"B, what are you doing?!"

"I don't understand what the problem is," Brittany says, eating the crumbs off her hand, "It's really good brownies, you guys." Santana and you stare at her wide-eyes while Quinn chuckles a bit in the background.

"Thank you Brittany," you tell her after you've shot Quinn a glare, "It's good to know _someone_ here trusts me."

"Oh, I trust you Rach!" Brittany says happily, oblivious to the stab at the other two girls. You smile at her.

"I know you do, Brittany. Thank you for that."

She beams at you. "Sure, no problem!"

"Allrighty then!" Santana loudly draws the attention to herself. "As fun as I think this is, I _did_ come here to get some work done, so let's get started!" she's oddly enthusiastic. Quinn turns to you.

"Oh yeah, Rachel, I completely forgot to ask, why did you join us?"

"What? Santana and Brittany didn't tell you?"

She shakes her head no. You look over at Santana who is now plopping down on the carpet and trying not to smirk while she places her algebra books on the table. The glint in her eyes gives her away.

"Oh, Rachel's just having some trouble with her history. She wants to get some higher grades." _God bless this girl!_ Brittany says it with such nonchalance that it doesn't even sound weak to yourself any more. "So Sani told her she could come here so maybe you could help her a little."

You whip your head to Brittany.

_Wait, what? I thought Santana was supposed to help me out!_

When Quinn notices your confusion she chuckles a bit.

"Did you think Santana did that by herself?" _Yes, yes I did._ "Well, she didn't. She has a gift for algebra and biology, but history is not really her thing either. I helped her with that."

Well this should be fun.

It is. Quinn teaches you how it helps to keep the big picture in mind and how to accomplish that. She tells you that by taking large pieces of paper you can create a cloud of information around a time-line. The timeline helps to keep the order and the cloud of notes around it apparently takes on the same shape of your braincells and the connection they make between them. Your brain does this subconsciously and it's supposed to make it easier to follow, because it's an organic form, that actually resides in the place where the information needs to go.

The use of a different colour for each segment helps you tell apart time period from time period, so that there's no way they can get mixed up. You actually feel like you're learning something, and that's not something that happens to you very often.

The brownies are gone in no time, once the cheerios realize they're edible, and Santana even reluctantly agrees with Brittany that you can hardly tell the difference between the vegan and the non-vegan ones after she accidentally ate a vegan one. Quinn even happily surprises you by telling you that one of the pates (the smaller one) is completely vegan.

At that you really believe she deserves a hug, and so she gets one. Brittany soon joins in on the fun and calls for Santana to "come hug everyone as well".

She politely declines.

Her loss, you figure, as you're engulfed by a blonde ball of happiness.

* * *

**A/N: So, welcome (back), kind reader! There you go! As promised, right on time! ^^**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated!  
**

**Sadly enough, my writer's block still hasn't lifted, so the next update will, once again, be in 10 days instead of 7. Friday next week! Have a good one!  
**


	10. Associations

**Satie - Gymnopedie #1 : **_**/watch?v=q7DBoiyBoJ8**_** (until 3:30)**

**Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata : **_**/watch?v=5-MT5zeY6CU**_

**Debussy - Clair de Lune : **_**/watch?v=3TpPjMjrjK8**_

**Andrew Belle - All Those Pretty Lights : **_**/watch?v=_GXOdpd8q7E**_** (yes, it's an alternative version, **_**but it's better so let me love it!)**_

**Passion Pit - Sleepyhead : **_**/watch?v=na1OdO30Yp8**_

* * *

Once the snacks run out Santana decides that this study session is over. When you raise your eyebrows at her in a true Fabray fashion (Quinn would have been proud, had she seen it) Brittany whispers in your ear that Santana's mostly here for the food and the fun, though she tries to convince everyone otherwise. It sounds fairly logical now you think about it, and Brittany shoots you a wink before Santana practically summons her and she skips her way over to the girl.

Santana is already in her coat by the door, holding out Brittany's. Quinn is standing next to her, an with small smile she regards the scene. Her eyes find yours and you share a subtle smile and she rolls her eyes. You shrug in response.

"Well, bitches, we'd better be going," Santana belts out, completely unnecessary.

Brittany, who has in the meantime put on her coat, hugs Quinn tightly and whispers something in her ear that makes her frown confusedly, while the smile on her lips remains. Brittany winks at her as well before turning on her heel and stepping out of the door.

Santana remains standing in the door opening. She nods to Quinn and then looks to you.

"Bitch. Berry."

Her gaze is intense and you feel the urge to fidget. You can't help but look away from her and as you do so, you feel her gaze leave you.

When you dare to look up again she is no longer standing in the hallway.

Quinn is still there, standing in the door opening, watching the other two walk down the path, and you move to stand next to her. The two of you watch them go. Brittany runs back to walk next to Santana and when she reaches her she takes her hand. Santana doesn't pull away.

"It's sad, what the prejudice at school does to them, don't you think?" you ask quietly.

She hums and a moment of silence passes between you.

"I trust you," you hear her say next to you. You turn to look at her. She keeps her gaze fixed on her team mates.

"What-"

"Today, just after Santana and Brittany arrived, you said I didn't trust you," her eyes lock on yours. "I do. I trust you."

Her eyes stay connected to yours for a moment before she looks down the path again. The other girls have already passed through the gate and are no longer in sight. Quinn turns back and passes by you back into the house. You quietly follow.

Once you're standing in the middle of the living room she abruptly turns around and eyes you.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." She moves up the stairs and you take the opportunity to sit down in front of the grand piano. You let your fingertips ghost over the keys and softly press down the major e. The soft sound fills the room and you shiver a little.

Slowly, gently, you bring both hands to the ivory and begin to play. You start off softly, like a whisper, but once the melody melds into a higher octave you gradually increase the volume, until Ludo's Fly is resonating through the entire house. Without you noticing, Quinn has come downstairs again, an old Canon AE-1 in hand.

Soundlessly she slides over the wooden floor until she finds the angle she's searching for. She lifts the camera to her eye, squeezes one eye shut, gets a clear image and takes the picture.

You're sitting straight up, your shoulders relaxed and your fingers subtly pressing down on the keys. You've dropped your head a little so that it's now almost resting on your own collarbone and closed your eyes, a concentrated but peaceful look on your face. The light coming from the window behind you creates something like a halo around you.

As Quinn lowers the camera again the keeps her eyes trained on you. Why she's never before taken photographs of the girl in front of her is a mystery to her. The camera is absolutely in love with her.

She tries and moves a bit closer to you, trying to get a close-up of your face, when the song comes to an end. As the final note lingers in the air your eyes open again. That's when you hear a click coming from your left.

You find Quinn crouched down, resting on one knee, maybe five foot away from you lowering a camera. Her eyes shine with joy and mischief.

"Did you just -" you begin, but you needn't even ask.

"Quinn! That was uncalled for! You can't just take pictures of people without their knowing, it's an invasion of privacy!" You jump off the bench and reach for the camera, but Quinn's stood up again and the camera is far out of your reach by the time you reach her. So instead you place your hands on your hips and stare her down angrily.

She just smiles at you.

"But, Rachel, aren't you happy? You just made the wall."

It takes you a few seconds to realize what she's talking about, but once you do, You can't really stay mad at her. You can't give her this for nothing though.

"Then I want one of yours from the wall," you tell her. She briefly frowns at this.

"No." she says, finality in her voice. "I can't give you one of those." You're confused now, but you feel like you've crossed a line of some sorts judging by her reaction, so you don't pry as hard as you usually would have done.

"Why not?" you ask.

She opens her mouth a few times to say something, but nothing really comes out. Her eyes search for something to hold onto and they find the piano. She inhales a shaky breath before looking at you again.

"Because they're _me_," she breathes. "I can't just give away a part of me."

At her explanation you smile.

You gently place your hand on her arm that's still holding up the camera. Slowly you pull it down and take the camera from her. Grinning at her you take off, out of the front door.

"Wh- Rachel!" Quinn calls behind you before she starts the chase.

You run off the path into the garden. Behind you, Quinn keeps calling your name and for you to stop, but you ignore her. You manage to round the house before the catches up with you. Before you can see her you can hear her, the thumping of her feet on the grass. Then a hand appears and wraps itself around the hand holding the camera.

You can feel her arm encircle your waist and before you can do anything to stop it you're both tumbling to the ground. Quinn keeps the camera off the ground to protect it from harm and when she's sure it's safe she lets it plop down in the grass.

Her arm is still around your waist as you both lie on the ground breathing hard from your little sprint. Then you can feel her body start to shake with laughter. She rolls off you and only then begins to laugh out loud.

"You're insane, you know that?" she manages to get out. She lets go of the the camera and places her wrist over her eyes. You see your chance and sit up to lift the camera.

"Quinn, look at me," you whisper, asking for her attention. She opens her eyes to look at you and you quickly press the shutter.

The fresh green grass is tickling her face and her hair is spread out over it in a perfect imperfect mess. One eye is in the shadow of her wrist while the other shines in the sunlight. The grass accentuates her eyes and her face is still lit up from laughing. Her other hand lays on her stomach.

As you lower the camera she keeps her eyes trained on you, still smiling lightly. You return her smile and place the camera on her stomach.

"Then I want that one," you tell her as you lay back down next to her, your shoulders touching.

She hums.

"Okay."

A silence follows and you both lay content in the grass, looking up at the passing clouds.

"That song you were playing just now on the piano," she breaks the silence.

"Yeah."

"I know it. I watched a film once where Ludo composed the music."

"He's a good composer."

"I know, I've played some pieces of his."

You turn yore head to look at her. "You play?" you ask her, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugs. "It's not really something important."

You huff and prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Not important? Quinn, it's something that _defines_ you, it's part of who you are." For a reason you can't explain you feel that it's something essential to Quinn, or essential for you to know about her. Somehow, you feel connected to her now, as fellow musicians.

She catches your eye and looks at you amusedly for a moment, quirked eyebrow and all. Then her eyes soften and she says: "Maybe it was, but not any more."

She moves to get up.

"Will you play something for me?" you ask, and she freezes mid-motion.

"Why?" she asks you, sounding genuinely confused and interested, "I'm not sure I even remember how."

You stand up and turn to look at her. "It's not something you forget."

She smiles bashfully at that and shakes her head. "All right, one song," she says as the walks away from you toward the house. You smile to yourself and move to follow her.

The song she plays is one Ludovico Einaudi composed as well. "It's called L'origine Nacosta," she tells you, "It's from that film I told you about."

It's beautiful sad music and you sit next to her on the bench completely motionless until she finishes.

You can feel her upper arm work as it sends her fingers flying over the keys.

Sometimes she brushes past you like a stranger on a crowded street, not even noticing you.

Sometimes she touches you like a parent gently encouraging a child to do something it's unsure of.

Sometimes she hovers, hesitantly, like holding a butterfly in the palm of your hand, afraid to break its wings if you touch it, but wanting to make a connection with the beautiful fragile creature voluntarily putting itself in such a vulnerable position.

When she finishes her hands linger on the ivory, pressing down even though the sound has long faded. Carefully, as if it's something sacred, she lets the keys come back up and folds her hands in her lap.

You can feel her chest expand as she takes in a shuddering breath. "I haven't played that in forever," she all but whispers.

"It was beautiful," you tell her honestly, "You should lend me the film sometime"

"Oh, we don't have it," she says, "I think I went to the theatre four times to see it." She lets out a breathy laugh and shakes her head to herself.

Then she turns to look at you.

"We should watch it sometime."

Who are you to refuse?

* * *

Dinner that evening is energetic, you're still on some kind of high from having spent the entire day with Quinn and actually got along with her, so there's very little that could possibly dampen your mood right now. Your papa asks you about your day and gush.

You tell them about the brownies and Santana and all the help you got with your history and they listen with rapt attention.

At some point Hiram asks "Quinn, you mean Quinn Fabray?"

"Yes, papa, I mean Quinn Fabray."

"You mean that girl that used to torture you?"

"Well, I'd hardy call it _torture_, that would have required something like questioning and extended periods of conf-"

"That Quinn Fabray?"

"God, Hiram, just tell the poor girl whatever is on your mind. Look at her, she's all upset about your intense and judegmental questioning!" It's true. You've hunched over a bit and you look even smaller that usual. Hiram sighs.

"Baby girl, you know I didn't mean it like that. I just want what's best for you, and I don't know if Quinn is… _good_ for you…"

"Papa, if you're worried about Quinn's upbringing I can guarantee you that she's nothing like her father. Her best friends are in a relationship for goodness' sake."

"Her best friends?" Leroy looks at you confused.

"Santana and Brittany, dad. The two cheerios? The ones with the cheating method that I busted?" You see their eyes lighten in recognition. "Yeah them, they're together. Well, not officially, but you can see it from a mile away. It's pretty obvious."

"But what about the way she's tortured you, sweet pea?" Hiram asks.

"Papa, really, I am prepared to swear on Barbra that she's changed. She's no longer that person. She apologized to me profusely and is actually scaring away the jocks with the slushies. She's the one that helped me with history and I'm slowly getting to know the girl behind the mask. She's a good person, papa."

Hiram doesn't really sigh, but does take a rather big breath, shoots Leroy a glance and reaches over the table to take hold of your hand. He lowers his head and looks at you pleadingly.

"Just be careful, darling. We'd hate to see you heartbroken again." You can't help but frown at this.

"Pa, really, as nice as the girl is, I hardly think she'll be able to break my heart."

Lies.

Hiram shoots you pointed look. "You know what I mean, honey."

"Speaking of heartbreak," Leroy decides to change the subject, "How is Fred doing? I haven't seen him for a while."

"It's _Finn_, dad, and he's doing fine. _We're_ doing fine. He took me to dinner and the movies a couple of weeks ago, remember? And he told me he's planning on taking me out again someday soon."

Tuesday he'd showed up at your locker and said that he thought he hadn't been seeing you enough.

"I miss you," he'd said, "I care about you and I want to spend time with you." You'd told him that you'd love to and that you were sorry, because all the tests you'd been having lately had kept you from being with him.

"Great!" he'd said, "Then make sure you're free next Friday, okay? I've got a really good idea." When you asked him what it was, he'd told you it was a surprise.

"Sounds pretty exciting," Hiram nods appreciatively, "Have you figured out what it is already?"

"No," you pout, "He hasn't spoken to anyone about it yet, so there are no leads to go on yet." You've never been good with surprises. You can't stand not knowing. Even when you were little you always tried to figure out what you'd get for your birthday or from Santa.

You're pretty sure that the way you found out Santa doesn't exist is far from what your fathers had had in mind for you. There was no way you'd blame them though, you just happen to have your own sneaky ways when it comes to surprises.

Handling presents is something you've learned to control over the years, though you still have a tendency to force their buyer's hand by either making a list or simply not-so-subtly dropping hints whenever you get the chance. That way, chances of receiving a gift that is not to your liking are minimal. It can only help, you figure.

"No offence though," Hiram says softly, conspiratorially, "But Flynn -" _"Finn." _"- Finn isn't the brightest guy, he's bound to leave clues eventually darling. It's just a matter of time."

You nod. He's never been able to surprise you before. Well, except for that star he'd named after himself and given to you. You really hadn't expected 'd thought is was sweet, though a little unnerving somehow. For some reason you'd felt the gesture wasn't as sweet , poetic and romantic as Finn had thought it to be.

You still think that, though now, it's for completely different reasons.

* * *

That Tuesday, after an exceptionally boring English class, in which Mrs Holmes spent the entire hour she had talking about the magnificence of Shakespeare's writing in Hamlet and his superb playwriting, Kurt walks up to you when you're switching your books. He leans on the locker next to yours, folds his arms across his chest and stares at you with a raised eyebrow until you acknowledge his presence.

"So I hear you've been getting rather friendly with the Ice Queen?"

_Oh, god no._

"What do you mean?" Ah, well, at least your voice is steady. Can't say the same of the rest of you.

"Oh, you know," Kurt muses, shrugging one shoulder and looking up at the ceiling in faux cluelessness. "There have been no slushie-assaults since _Quinn_ _rescued_ you that particular nasty time. You're seen smiling at each other, that kind of stuff."

You press your books to your chest and take a deep breath, raising your chin in the air.

"Well, yes, Quinn and I have agreed to a cease-fire a couple of weeks ago, so there hardly is a reason for me to treat her any differently from how I have been doing."

Kurt's smirk grows a bit and he leans toward you. "Rumour has it," he stage whispers, "That you went to the Fabrays this weekend."

Your head snaps to him, your eyes wide.

"Ah, well, I suppose that rumour is true then," he chimes happily.

"She's just helping me with studying for history," you immediately defend yourself, "It's not a big deal!"

"Not a big de- Rachel, in what universe is visiting _Quinn Fabray_ 'not a big deal'? The woman is impenetrable! I've spent months doubting whether she even had a heart! Whether she was even human!" You can't help but frown at this.

"She's not that bad. She's even kind of nice."

Kurt throws his hands up in the air.

"That's it! I'm done. Somebody give the Lord Almighty a call because the Ice Queen is kind of nice!"

You hastily grab his arms and pull them down again.

"Come on, Kurt, don't make a scene! I don't think I could use that right now?"

"How so? Apparently you're under the protection of Quinn Fabray. No-one can touch you!" You shoot him a glare of such intensity that you wouldn't have been surprised if he'd died on the spot. But Kurt just smirks at you mischievously. He's had his fun though, because he's not struggling against your grip.

"Girl," he says, "You simply must tell me _everything_."

You let go of him and sigh, whereas he poses himself against the locker again, smirk still intact.

"Really, nothing happened, Kurt. We sat around a table, ate some cupcakes and brownies and did some history. It's really not that big of a deal."

"Wait, she got you to eat non-vegan cupcakes and brownies?" Really? _That's_ what he's choosing to focus on?

"No, of course not!"

"Did you get _her_ to eat _vegan _cupcakes and brownies?" Wow, he looks even more impressed now.

"No, -"

Kurt gasps. You stare.

"Did she _make_ you vegan cupcakes and brownies..?"

"Well, I baked the brownies, so -" You're interrupted by Kurt's muffled squeal of delight.

"Kurt, _seriously_. What is the big deal here? So she made me vegan cupcakes. I made her a share of non-vegan brownies, it's not something special. It's just what people _do_. It only proves that she remembered."

Kurt's smile grows impossibly wider and he waves his finger in front of you a couple of times before stabbing you in the chest with it.

"You see," he says, "That's where you're _wrong_. It doesn't _only_ prove she remembered, it means that she _cares_ enough to _actually_ _bake_ them."

Well, shit. And here you were, thinking she couldn't possibly get any more perfect.

As if it were staged you catch sight of a flutter of gold and your eyes instantly connect with hazel. She's standing at a corner, about ten meters away, Brittany or Santana nowhere in sight, and she smiles at you.

You don't know why, but your insides burn up and you feel a blush creeping up your neck as you smile back bashfully. Nothing seems to move for a couple of seconds while your heart transforms into a beast and is yanking and gnawing at its chains and your innards implode as you look at her with new knowledge because she _cares_. Then her lips quirk and everything comes back to like again.

She turns and disappears into another hallway. You don't notice Kurt looking between you and the corned Quinn just disappeared behind like he's watching an Olympic tennis match. His gaze comes to a rest on you and he narrows his eyes, suspicious of something he can't quite put his finger on yet. But he feels there is more to this nevertheless. You only remember he's there when he clears his throat and says "Well, _that's_ something you don't see every day."

You fidget a little and quickly turn to your locker again, fruitlessly trying to hide your face from him. It's bright red, you're sure, and you're biting your bottom lip in an effort to stop a foolish grin from spreading all over your face. The monster in your chest is no longer trying to break loose, and it's now fervently pawing at its surroundings to find a soft spot before turning several times as he prepares to get comfortable again. It's a fuzzy, rather restless feeling, but not unpleasant.

Meanwhile, Kurt is still trying to get your attention to let you know he's still waiting for a response. So you shrug and tell him it's nothing special. He raises his eyebrows at that.

"If you say so…"

At that moment the bell rings and you all the students that were just idly standing by their lockers begin to move. It's not long before the halls are being drowned in chaos. You see an opening and tell Kurt your goodbyes before disappearing into the ocean of students.

Really, you should be a spy or something, _no-one_ notices you like this. You make it to your biology class unharmed.

During lunch your eyes seem to find Quinn on their own accord. She's just sitting at her usual table, talking with Santana and Brittany, but there's something about her that unsettles you.

She seems to notice that she's being looked at and she lifts her gaze to meet yours. From across the cafeteria you notice that her smile is not just friendly, it's also half of a grin and you don't trust it. It's like she knows a secret.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, realization hits you. You shoot back around and focus on your tray because you need _something_ to focus on.

"Are you okay?" Finn asks tentatively after he's gotten over the initial shock. He'd been talking to Puck and Sam before he'd gotten whip-lashed by your hair as you abruptly turned back around. Puck and Sam are casually continuing their discussion about whether Battlefield or Call of Duty is better.

"Yeah," you tell him, because you seem to lack vocabulary at the moment, "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry." Ah, it's slowly returning to you.

He nods before turning back and telling Sam that the CoD graphics are infinitely better than the Battlefield ones, to which Sam replies that the mouth synchronization in CoD simply sucks, and that Battlefield's is superior. None of you notice Santana looking at your back intensely or Kurt blankly staring at you as if he's lost in thought.

God, you don't notice _anything_. All you can think is _What if she knows? _Because that right there? That'd be a problem.

When the bell announces the end of lunch break you still haven't touched your food. Finn looks at it, then to you, then back to the food again before quietly asking whether you're gonna eat that? When you shake your head no, he smiles and quickly eats everything before putting the tray away and taking your hand as you leave the cafeteria. You've got a free period now, and he doesn't so he bends down and kisses you sweetly before running off to make it to his class in time.

You leisurely walk over to your locker and take a lunch box from it before making your way to the auditorium. The lunch box is a habit you took on when things were still very bad. Jocks used to steal your wallet, so that you couldn't buy lunch any more, so you started secretly bringing your own lunch, while everyone believed that you still bought it at the cafeteria.

They don't steal your wallet any more, but you still bring your own lunched from time to time, even if it's just for a healthy snack in between classes. Today, it's filled with small carrots, a potato salad and a piece of bread. You feel like a rabbit a little, nibbling on the carrots, but you don't really care. You like carrots better raw than cooked.

You sit down in front of the piano and put the box next to you on the bench. For a minute you sit in silence, not knowing what to play. Then you pick up another carrot, bite down on it and move your hands to the piano. While nibbling on the carrot you start playing random chords. This continues for a minute or two until your fingers find the opening chord of Satie's Gymnopedie #1, so you continue playing it. Halfway through you leap off and transform it to Fly, which you finish entirely, letting the final notes linger until they've faded out and only then lifting your hands.

A feeling of melancholy washes over you and seeps out of your fingers as they lay on the ivory. Satie never fails to accomplish that. You continue with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Not really one of your favourites, but it has its moments. This is one of them.

Your fathers practically begged you to learn it, and so you did. Personally, you find Debussy's Clair de Lune infinitely better. Much more challenging as well, and you couldn't help yourself as you bought the sheet music and took it to your teacher. He told you that it was difficult, and that it would take time, but you were willing to invest time in something you wanted.

Now, you know it had been the right decision, as you once again transform the song you're playing and let Debussy take it over.

All the while playing your mind wanders back to the cafeteria and what could happen if she knew. Whether she would be disgusted, afraid, awkward or supportive.

You don't know which one would be worse.

Supportive seems like the obvious choice between the rest of them, but when you remember that you would be left with your feelings while she stays friendly and supportive, you don't know if you'd manage. Maybe you'd even rather she just shoved you away, because then you'd know for sure that it was hopeless and have a reason to stop liking her. After all, it's easier to get over someone who is horrible to you, isn't it?

Debussy comes to an end and sigh escapes you. Well this made you feel better.

Sarcasm.

You grab another carrot and walk off the stage. You'd better read.

* * *

Finn doesn't show up between classes, so you arrive early at your algebra class. Jacob is already sitting there and he starts grinning as soon as you step into the room. He straightens his posture and beckons you to come sit next to him, but repulse makes your skin crawl and you sit in the back, as far away from him as possible. He turns around in his chair but thankfully remains seated.

"I have sources confirming that you're building a friendship with Quinn Fabray," he says, quivering with excitement. "What do you have to say about those rumours, Rachel?" The way he says your name makes you want to run out of the room. Instead you shiver and scowl at him.

"I will neither confirm nor deny that Quinn and I are establishing a friendship. However, it is true that she stopped harassing me," you tell him, your face stoic, "Whatever conclusion you make from that is your own doing." Apparently that is enough for him, because his grin widens and he opens his mouth to say something. But before he has the chance, other people start filling the room, so he settles for staring at you.

You just try your best not to kill him.

Seats are being taken everywhere around you, and you receive some glares from the people who usually sit where you are. You don't care, you've had worse.

Then you hear a chair scraping very close to you and your eyebrows go pay a visit to the moon when Quinn plops down in the seat next to you. From your peripheral vision you can see Jacob nearly faint.

You're still staring at her when she starts casually unpacking like this is completely normal. She gets out her books, her notes and calculator and neatly places them on her desk before turning to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

You snap out of it instantly.

"Wha- nothing, nothing. It's just that… well… I'm a bit surprised." She smiles at you.

"Well, you'd better get used to it then, cause I'm not going to spend every first five minutes of my classes explaining myself to you."

Oh, wait, what? So this is not a one-time-thing?

Oh.

Okay. You can live with that.

The both of you smile at each other in agreement for a second, until the teacher walks in and encourages everyone to listen to him for a moment, because you'll be starting logarithms today.

Groans fill the room, but Quinn leans over and whispers "No worries, Santana can already _dream_ that stuff, and from what I gather, I think we'll manage."

You look at her and she smiles and holds up an earbud.

"Listen with me?" You take it from her and she unlocks her iPod. She scrolls through the songs for a minute before shrugging and picking one. A soft guitar seeps through the bud and you find yourself bobbing along slightly. A keyboard joins in and they repeat the melody one more time before the voice of a man filters through. His voice is calm and a little hoarse, but you can hear it's a natural hoarseness, and you reckon it fits him.

You reach for the iPod. _All Those Pretty Lights_ by Andrew Belle. Quinn is looking at you questioningly from your peripheral vision and you nod your approval. She smiles and turns her attention back to the book in front of her. You both sit in silence for a while as you work on the logarithms. Then the iPod seems to high-pitch voices and get stuck on one of the songs and you pull out the bud and take the iPod again. The numbers on the screen are ticking away as usual and Quinn looks at you confused.

"I think your iPod is broken," you tell her. At this she stares at you for a while before she starts laughing, her hand shooting up to her mouth to muffle any sound she might make. Her eyes shine with amusement above it. Now it's your turn to be confused.

"It's not broken, Rachel. It's part of the song." Your eyes bulge, she just hands you back the bud and starts the song over again. Halfway through it, you've found the rhythm and somewhat figured out how this number is put together. When it ends you play it again, earning a raised brow from Quinn.

"What? I just want to understand it." She nods and lets you do as you please. After having heard it three times, _Sleepyhead_ is one of your favourite songs. You are having serious trouble with containing your happy dance at the instrumental part after the chorus, so you settle for an odd wiggle in your chair every time it comes around.

When the bell rings and you close your books you don't notice Quinn slipping something between your notes. You walk out together and she turns to you once you're in the hallways again.

"Hey, I noticed you spend your free period on Thursday in the auditorium. Is it okay if I come join you there?" You look at her surprised.

"I didn't know you had a free period," you tell her.

She shrugs. "Yeah, well, now you do."

"How did you even know I spend them in the auditorium?" She smiles guiltily.

"It's kind of hard not to notice the music coming from there. I've been gate crashing for weeks." You figure that this feeling is what people call slack-jawed. But instead of really letting it actually happen, you raise your eyebrows and laugh at her. She blushes and smacks your arm.

"What? How should I have known about your inner stalker?" When she still doesn't crack a smile and huffs, her face a bright pink, you control yourself a little.

"Ahw, come on," you encourage her, "It's a little funny."

She shoots you a pointed look.

"Give me your books."

"I'm sorry, what? No, why would I give you my books?"

"Because. Just give them to me."

Hesitantly you hand them over. She flips through them until she finds your notebook, opens it and starts browsing through until she finds what she's looking for and you see her take something from between the pages. Something you're certain you didn't put there.

"What is that?" you ask.

"What? Nothing. At least nothing that concerns you," she says, but it's blatantly obvious that she's lying.

"Yes it is," you say, "What is it? Give it to me."

"No," she tells you, a teasing smile on her lips as she shoves your books back into your arms. You catch a glimpse of grass and hazel as she does so.

You gasp.

"No," you say with new conviction, your heart rampaging again. "Give it to me."

You practically demand it.

For some reason you've started breathing heavily, your eyes still trained on the piece of paper in her hand. Quinn inclines her head defyingly and leans toward you a little. Your eyes shift from the item in her hand to her eyes and a thick tension engulfs you. It presses on you from the outside, bus as you inhale it, you can feel your blood rising through your veins and your heart hammer hard, pulsating your entire body in its steady rhythm. It's not faster, just so much more intense. Your hands are twitching, aching to touch her, to _feel_ her. Shivers run down your spine in steady, thrilling waves. She looks at you playfully, challenging, while she looks back straight into chocolate.

"_Earn it_," she says lowly, and _God_, you're this close to kissing her. It's like you _need_ it.

But she turns around and walks away from you.

"Okay, okay, you can come on Thursday!" you yell after her, cringing inwardly at the unintentional innuendo, but she doesn't even falter. You can practically see her smirk, as her entire posture emits smugness in waves as she tilts her head backwards a little.

"You'll have to do better than that, Berry!" she calls over her shoulder. You huff and watch her go. When you turn around you're met by Santana Lopez, but when you move to pass her, she moves with you, effectively blocking your way.

"Good afternoon, Santana," you say, "I was wondering if-" But she interrupts you and silences you with a glare.

This is bad. Really bad.

"I think you and I should have a little talk someday soon, Berry," she says, "How about today, after practice?"

You swallow.

"Well, I do have piano lessons this afternoon, so that might pose to be a problem."

"Oh, don't worry. I don't think it'll take long." She squints her eyes at you swiftly before brushing past you.

Forget about bad. This is the freaking apocalypse.

* * *

**A/N: Good day to you, kind reader! It's been ten days, and therefore time for a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, I honestly have no idea how this ever got this gigantic. It just happened.  
**

**Sadly enough, my writer's block is still in full effect, which means that the next chapter (THE NEXT CHAPTER!) is not finished yet. I will not be turning it into an Intermission, because it will be a chapter with significance. What kind of significance I will not be able to tell you though. I don't do spoilers. Anyway, the clue was that it's not done yet, and it won't be an Intermission, which means that I don't have the possibility of posting part of it to still your thirst for chapters.**

**I hope you will believe me when I tell you that I am terribly sorry.  
**

**Oh, also: I will be having finals in two weeks. Meaning, the week after next one. Which means that I will be having very little time to write. The next chapter will, for obvious reasons, probably be posted in _THREE WEEKS._ Bear with me. Please. **

**I _will_ be back. Promise.  
**


	11. Familiarity

_**Ludo - Cache-Cache : /watch?v=1v-iTcTia60 (go, my friend! copy paste it! ;D)**_

* * *

**Familiarity**

* * *

That afternoon is probably the the most nerve-wrecking afternoon you've ever had in your life. There are only two periods left, and after that cheerios practice, which you will have to sit through because Satan wants to have a little conversation. You think you might quit. Everything.

You're terrified.

In the break you contemplate telling Finn, but after you take one look at him in yet another Battlefield-CoD-related discussion with Puck and Sam, you decide not to. He's a darling, don't get that wrong, he is, but he never really listens to what you tell him. Mostly he looks at you (sometimes not even that, then he just stares at something over your shoulder), nods at the right moments (again, not always the case), and eventually reacts to a completely random thing you said that doesn't really have anything to do with the actual problem.

You never point it out. You used to, until you talked him into a semi depression and you thought he might harm himself at some point. It didn't really seem wise to continue pointing out that he was unable to pinpoint the core of a message.

Kurt is looking at you again. It sets you on edge.

You know he's got a newfound interest in you and Quinn's friendship, but the way he just looks at you, like he's in deep thought, trying to figure out your darkest secrets, it just feels uncomfortable. Confronting him with it is something you don't quite dare yet, he may just ask you if there's something else going on, and you're a horrible liar.

Yes, you can act, but you wear your emotions on your sleeve. Only Finn is unable to easily read you.

Must be hard on him.

But Kurt is still looking at you. And you're still on edge because of it. So you stare back.

When he doesn't seem fazed by it, you decide to jerk your head, conveying your _'What?!' _effectively_._

He narrows his eyes, shifts his gaze to the table, but with a look in his eyes that tells he's staring at nothingness, and shakes his head. He glances up at you from under his brows for a second and eyes you intensely. Then he turns his attention completely away from you.

You're glad he is no longer looking at you, but the sudden dismissal doesn't sit right. Before you have a chance to talk to him about it, the bell rings, and before you know it, he's gone.

You don't see him again that day.

When the hours of silently freaking out in classrooms are finally over, you make your way to the bleachers. The field is still empty, and you didn't expect it any differently. You dig in your bag and take out your book again.

It's one of the warmer spring days, so you don't have to curl up into a ball and still be freezing. The sun peeks through the clouds regularly and when it does, you bask in its warmth. There's a steady breeze, with little gusts every minute or so. The gusts still are rather chilly, especially when a cloud happens to be just passing over, blocking the sun's warmth.

You glance up from your book as the field starts to fill, the jocks on one end, the cheerios on the other. Finn walks up on the field, easily recognized because he's so tall. Every time you see him in his training suit for football practice, you're surprised by how broad he looks. You know that it's the protection that makes him look like that, but because he's so tall, the protection only makes him _broad_, whereas it makes all his teammates look like weird upside-down triangles.

Finn's tall build kind of neutralizes this triangle, making him just look broad. It looks good on him, manly. Or at least manlier that he normally is, after all, without the suit, he's kind of plumpy. Soft plumpy though, not jelly plumpy. That'd be extremely unattractive. Anyway, when he's wearing that protection, he looks amazing, and you can honestly say you're proud to be his girlfriend, because he's the only one that pulls it off.

He recognizes you and waves. It reminds you of the last time you came to practice, that time when Quinn and you somehow bonded. You mirror him, and before much more interaction was able to take place, coach Beiste's booming voice reaches you, and thereby Finn as well, and he's called away for practice. He jogs off to the rest of the guys, slapping Puck on the shoulder when he comes to a stop next to him. Cheerios practice hasn't started yet, even though pretty much all of them are on the field already. That's because the most important one isn't there yet. And the bag isn't present yet either.

The conclusion has barely registered or the doors to the school swing open. You don't know how she does it, but coach Sylvester never fails to draw attention to herself when she enters. Even though it's just the double doors to the field swinging open, it's like there was an entire action-movie worthy drum, complete with light- and wind-effects. Sue comes marching out, followed by Quinn, who is sporting a gigantic bag, which looks incredibly heavy, full of props. You don't think you want to know why Sue is making her head girl carry the massive burden instead of one of her bottom-of-the-pyramid ones.

No, wait, you do, that woman in insane.

Once the bag is ungraciously dropped to the grass and Quinn has found her spot between Santana and Brittany, Sue gives a short speech and all of the cheerios start running laps. And not just a couple, no. You stopped counting after 14. At some point Sue lifts the megaphone and tells them, _"That's enough!" _and all the girls drop where they're standing. But Sylvester is relentless.

They're down for hardly ten seconds before the starts yelling at them (with the megaphone, next to their heads, mind you) that they're pathetic, and that if they think that this is hard, they should try taking on a gull-grown grizzly bear with nothing but a wooden toothpick. _That's_ hard.

They have to do a couple of hundred sit-ups, some stretching and warm-up exercises before practicing their routine thoroughly. By the time they're done, you're five chapters and ninety minutes further. The jocks are long gone by the time Sue tells the cheerios to hit the showers, and you haven't seen Finn since his waving hello. He didn't come up the bleachers to tell you goodbye. You suppose he forgot you were up there.

It's not really like it bothers you as much as it usually would have, because hey, Satan wanted to have a little chat, remember? Yeah, you're a bit preoccupied at the moment.

Sylvester's voice wakes you up good though, because end of practice means time for Satan. You search her out between the rest and find her, naturally, standing next to Brittany and Quinn. But she's not paying attention to whatever it is they're saying. She's watching you, and you feel yourself shrink under her gaze.

You see Brittany say something to her, but she doesn't seem to hear her. Brittany follows her line of sight, and inevitably, her eyes land on you. Her face breaks out in a smile and she waves at you enthusiastically. There might have been a little jump involved. A grin breaks from you and you hold up your hand in a greeting.

Brittany's abundant greeting happens to have caught Santana's reaction as well, and the brunette twirls around to place a calming hand on Brittany's arm to make her stop. She does, but Santana isn't the only one whose attention was drawn to Brittany's waving. Before Santana has had the chance to pull her along, Quinn's eyes land on yours. You notice a slow smile creep up on her face, and you feel it rather than see it.

In contrast to Santana's somewhat intimidating gaze, Quinn's eyes feel comfortable on you. Slowly she raises her hand and waves in a minuscule, silent greeting. You copy her before your mind has even caught up with what just happened. Her smile widens a little before Santana grabs hold of her wrist and turns her around, pulling her toward the building where the rest of the cheerios have long disappeared into. She struggles a bit at first, but then Santana says something and the both of them stop dead. They stare each other down for a moment and then you see a smirk spread over Santana's face. Quinn smacks her on the arm, but starts laughing with her. Without any further struggle they make their way to the building.

This is the hardest part.

Now you're left on the bleachers with nothing to distract you from the thoughts of what may go down in approximately ten minutes. Well, yes, there is your book, but you quickly realize that stress turns your concentration into that of a peanut.

Non-existant.

Your read half a page before you realize that you have _no_ idea what you just read, so you start over again to reread what didn't stick. Sadly enough, this tactic gets you stuck on the first sentence, and after having read it seven times, you decide that it's for the best to just put it away and simply await whatever is to come.

There are people walking out the doors again now.

The sunny afternoon has transformed into a cloudy one during practice, so you shove your hands into your pockets to keep them warm and you suppress a shiver as you watch Santana walk out of the building. She tells Brittany goodbye and they hug tightly before Brittany walks toward her car. Santana watches her go, her hands stuffed away in the pockets of her letterman and her shoulders pulled up against the cold.

She doesn't move until Brittany's car has disappeared from sight.

It could have easily been part of a dramatic love story, you muse, where the two lovers part unwillingly after a tragedy occurred that drove them apart, whether they wanted or not. They had no choice.

But Santana turns around and looks at you and you feel your blood run cold. This is it.

You watch as she walks through the fence and along the bleachers until she starts climbing up to where you are seated. As she gets closer, you notice her usual harshness has lessened. She looks a lot less powerful, maybe small even, maybe a little sad as she reaches you and sits down next to you.

She's staring at her knees, hands still buried deep in her pockets, and you look at her, sitting in a similar position. Then she straightens up and looks at you. In reflex you straighten up as well.

"Okay, Berry, I'm going to talk for a while now and I want you to listen. Not talk, listen. Do you think you can do that?" You nod.

"Good." She turns and swings her leg over the bleacher, now fully facing you. Her hands remain in her pocket.

"I don't know what your angle is, or whether you even have an angle here, but I need you to think really hard about what it is you're doing right now. Quinn is my best friend and though I may not usually show it, I'd hate for her to get hurt. I know she's been a bitch to you, we all were, but she's changed now. She actually likes you."

Okay, so you're confused. You open your mouth to tell her that if she thinks you're doing this to _hurt _Quinn, she's gravely mistaken, but she stops you by simply raising a finger.

"Hey, no talking, remember? I talk, you listen."

You close back up again and slump a little. Santana does as well and she sighs.

"And, yes, you like her as well, I know." She catches your eyes and holds them hostage.

"You like her a lot more than you know is good for you."

She says it softly, a gentleness to her voice that is normally reserved for Brittany and Brittany alone.

But you can't notice it.

Your heart implodes like a supernova before its death and turns into a black hole, sucking in the rest of you, and it _hurts_. The realization, or more the actual confirmation that Santana knows hurts so much that it feels like you got sucker punched in the stomach by a transformer.

You can't breathe.

Your body starts shivering uncontrollably as all the panic and possible excuses and denials of her statement try to find a way out, but only end up blocking everything because they can't fit through at the same time. You want to deny everything, but the look in her eyes tells you that there is no way that she'd believe you.

She _knows_. It is no longer a suspicion, she's past that. She truly knows.

You want to run away. To just leave. Leave Lima, maybe even Ohio, drive around for a day or so and come back to everything being the way it was.

Your mouth is hanging open, bobbing as you try to speak, but nothing comes out.

"Please don't kill yourself?" Santana says, and that's something you never thought you'd ever hear her say. Miracles do exist.

"How -" you manage to whisper.

"Have you _seen_ the way you look at her? Seriously, you look like you want to marry her or something. Except for today after maths, then you just looked like you were going to mount her where she stood." You cringe at her crude language but have the good grace to blush. You know it's true.

"That obvious?"

"Well, yes. To me at least. But then again, my gaydar is the best you'll ever see. So don't worry about Finnept or others for that matter, they don't have a clue."

"Wait, so you won't tell on me?" you ask, frankly just blown away even by the _idea_ that the possibility even exists. Santana simply shakes her head.

"I know what it's like," she says, shrugging, "And as much of a bitch I am, no-one deserves to be pushed out like I was. And like I said, I don't want Q to get hurt again."

"How could she ever get hurt by _me_ getting pushed out of the closet?"

"She's scared. She's fine with B and my, but I don't think she'd be that cool about it if she found out she was the one you have a big gay crush on. With the way she was raised, I'm really proud of how far she's come, but she's still got a long way ahead of her. And she's happy when you're around her, I can see it. _You're_ good for her. But she'd push you away if she knew, and maybe that'd hurt her even worse than you."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, you know they're true. And so you nod in acknowledgement.

"Also," Santana continues, "If you hurt her, I know where you live. It won't be pretty."

Your eyes widen comically. "I would _never_ intentionally hurt her!" you shriek, thoroughly offended.

Santana shrugs. "I just thought you should know." She looks at you again. "But seriously though, be careful. Both with her and yourself. Because you really should think about tuning down your moon eyes. Keep that going much longer and the entire school will eventually catch on."

"Just like with you and Brittany."

"We never hid. Everyone knew about us."

"About the fact that you slept together, yes. That part was indeed intentional. But they also knew you were in love with her. For some reason, you were the last one to figure that out."

She laughs a little.

"Then the gleeks were _definitely_ betting on us."

You shrug.

"I wouldn't know. Betting, gambling and other luck-related games involving money are things I've sworn off for life. My dads made me swear. Despite that, I can say with quite a bit of certainty that they were betting on you, yes. But then again, they bet on everything that walks."

"Well, I suppose they're having a little bet on you and Q as well then."

You gasp. "Do you think they know?"

Santana rolls her eyes a bit. "I told you, no, they don't. But they're definitely betting on when your next fallout will be. Either that or on when you guys will finally shake hands and become the weirdest friends McKinley High has ever known. In which case everyone betting will already have lost."

You look up from your hands confused. Santana smirks at you.

"I mean, you already _are_, right?"

There was no way you could possibly have stopped the smile that spreads over your face.

You notice the other brunette is smiling gently, a stark contrast to her usual behavior.

"You know, Santana," you say, "It's truly a shame that you don't let anyone aside from Brittany see this side of yours. It really is quite charming."

She frowns and relents a little, followed by a fake gag. "Oh god, Berry, get any more sappy, I beg you."

* * *

You can't find it in yourself to focus on what Ms Holmes is saying during Lit on Thursday. You read the chapters required though, so you're glad when she hands out assignments to work on. At least you can answer the questions and hope that it takes your mind off things. Her lectures sure didn't.

She tells the class that you're allowed to discuss the answers with the person sitting next to you, and the classroom is immediately filled with hushed chatter and chairs scraping closer. You ignore all the noise and immediately put all your attention to the questions on the paper that was handed to you.

The questions are easy if you did your homework, so naturally you're done in ten minutes max. You spend the remainder of the lesson wondering how you can get your photo back. Well, you never really got it, but you took it, so technically, it's yours. You have _no_ idea what you could possibly do that would make her give it back to you. None.

As much as you'd hoped, you still have no idea what it is that interests her. You know the cheerios mean a lot to her, but she specifically told you that she hates it when people think that's all there is to her. You know that's not all there is to her, you _know _that, but the greater part of her is still a mystery to you. The only other hobbies you're aware of are photography and the fact that she plays piano, but photography is somewhat of a dead end, and piano is something she doesn't really care so greatly for. At least, she doesn't think so…

Then the idea hits you, and as soon as you have a rough concept, you know you can work it out to be perfect. Impatiently you wait for the bell to ring and you're out of the room first, uncaringly shoving your answers on your teacher's desk. You don't catch the odd look she gives you.

Unlike other days, you don't go to the cafeteria after you've put away your books, but you head straight to the library. When you almost come running in, the librarian shoots you a pointed look and quasi whispers _"No running!"_

You duck your head in apology but ignore her otherwise, you have more important things to worry about.

Like getting back your photograph. It's yours. You deserve it.

You swiftly take place by the computers and switch one on. Tapping your finger on the desk you wait for it to boot and you have to try three times to log in because you're typing to eagerly, making unnecessary mistakes.

The school still uses Internet Explorer. You roll your eyes animatedly and sigh.

This is going to take a while.

When the bell rings again, signaling the end of lunch break, you're not done yet, so you finish your work with a new sense of haste. There is someone waiting for you, after all. When you do finish, you sit back in your chair and allow yourself to stare at the screen with a sense of satisfaction. You grin to yourself.

She'll have no choice but to give you what it rightfully yours.

Leisurely you log out and turn off the screen. As you pass her, you nod to the librarian and give her a smile, there was no hiding it anyway, might as well use it to make some friends. Might come in handy later. The woman doesn't return the gesture in the slightest, but doesn't appear put off by your behavior either. You can't find it in yourself to care.

Ignoring the couple of students strolling down the hallways (you usually would have scolded them and given them a lecture about the importance of education) you head straight for the auditorium. Rounding a corner you're met by a rather sturdy body and you bounce off it, stumbling backwards.

Well, at least you didn't fall.

You mumble an apology and move to get past the person. You _really_ don't want any trouble now. Better apologize and slip away while you still can. Your attempt at a quick getaway is halted by a hand on your shoulder though, and you wince and quickly turn around, facing the person the sturdy body belongs to.

"Hey Rach, I missed you during lunch, where'd you go?"

Finn.

You exhale relieved.

"I had to do some research in the library," you answer him, "It's for English Lit, you probably don't want to know," you add when you see his face, clearly indicating that he intends to keep asking. His face transforms and his mouth turns into an o and you see realization dawn on him. He grins happily, glad that you chose not to bother him with literature.

"Oh, okay, good. I was just wondering, you know, seeing as I thought things were going better between the two of us and such."

You smile at him. He's sweet. "Of course, I understand. I'd wonder where you were if you didn't show up either. Speaking of not showing up, aren't you supposed to have Spanish this hour?"

He blinks and frowns a bit. Busted.

"What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I do," he says, quickly, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well, I am, thank you for your concern, but you really should get going to class, Finn. Your education is really important if you wish to ever achieve something of significance, you know? Nobody gets anywhere without proper education, because education is th- "

His eyes widen and he gets slightly panicky, searching for a way out of the lecture.

"Yeah, okay, I hear you, I'll go. you enjoy your free period, okay?" He kisses you on the cheek quickly and swiftly turns to make an escape, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway, practically mid-sentence.

It saddens you that he apparently is not interested in knowing why education is so important. After all, only actors, and you're talking film actors, would be able to make it without any education. They'd simply have to be able to say lines convincingly, and by the time things got complicated, they'd be able to hire the necessary people to do the hard work for them. Broadway is different, of course. After all, schools like Juilliard and NYADA don't just look at your ability to act, dance and sing, but also require some intellect from their students.

You shrug and continue your way to the auditorium.

Rather than see, you hear that Quinn is there already even before you open the doors. Soft music is coming from the room, and when you open the doors you see her sitting on the piano bench, quietly playing on the piano. You soundlessly close the door behind you, not alerting her to your presence, and lean against it as you listen to her play.

For some reason you feel like your witnessing something precious, something rare.

You don't recognize the song, but you're content to listen to her play, as everything she does seems to come naturally and beautifully. You scold yourself for thinking so, as the guilt settles in your stomach. It's ever present when you're around Quinn, like an action in the supermarket. Buy one, get one for free. Along with Quinn comes the guilt, and you can't really do anything about it.

It isn't so severely present as it sounds though. It's like a dull ache, like the tight skin of a scar that has just healed, not yet as yielding to your movements as you wish it would be. It's pretty much negligible. But that realization somehow makes the guilt only ever more present.

You close your eyes and let the music fill you up.

It's soft, and sweet like a lullaby, but too mature, too worn and serious and sad to be one. It's subtle, the sadness, but nevertheless present. It's one of the things you love about the piano. Somehow, the piano is a bittersweet instrument, it's beautiful and calming, yet you never fail to feel a slightly crushing pain to your chest when listening to it. It's like it's never really giving you the whole story, like there is always some history it is not sharing with you, because it believes that would be best.

It makes you feel complete, yet it introduces your soul to the many incompletions of life, and lets it look at all the holes, all the various unknowns that will never by known. And for some reason, that's exactly the way it's supposed to be. You wouldn't have it any different if you could.

You don't notice the silence that has washed over you, like you don't notice the eyes on you either.

She sits in front of the piano. She's stopped playing a while ago, not too long, but long enough to have regained her sense of the world. And so she looks at your still figure standing by the doors, eyes closed and head lulled back against it. Her eyes rake over your face, over the way your brows are furrowed just the slightest, over the way she can see your jaw hangs slack, but is kept nearly closed by the underpressure inside your mouth. Your hand is still on the doorknob, resting there, but gently holding onto it as well, not just laying on it. The other hand rests against your stomach, where it moves slightly with every breath you take.

Your eyes flutter.

"You're late."

They open instantly and focus on the blonde sitting twenty feet away from you.

"I got held up."

"I was thinking you mightn't show up."

"I would never stand you up."

She smiles.

"Thank god."

"Don't thank god, thank me."

Her eyebrow raises and her smile widens a bit. You start making your way over to her.

"Witty, aren't we?"

You shrug. "You would know, you crowned yourself queen of it."

"Isn't it only the king's right to do so?" Her eyes never leave you as you move up the stage.

You move toward the piano. "I don't think you ever needed a king to do anything for you."

"True."

You sit down next to her.

Her eyes are still on you. You don't look at her. Not until you've relished in her gaze long enough.

When your eyes meet, a weight presses down on your chest. Her smile has dimmed, and now only the afterglow remains, like the way the pink clouds show that the sun is still shining after sunset. You feel that all familiar pull, and can't help but wonder if she just might -

"I brought you lunch." She motions to a box on the piano. You hadn't noticed it yet. Your eyes break the contact for a moment to look at it, confirming that it is, in fact, there. Her gaze remains fixed.

"That's very kind of you."

"So I thought."

Your eyes narrow playfully and your lips quirk as your gaze reconnects with hers. Hers never falters, and you bite the inside of your lip to stop yourself form smiling. Her eyes twitch, letting you know that she caught notice of the action, but her eyes never leave yours.

This is just precious.

It's like there's static electricity between the two of you, pushing and pulling at the same time, worthy adversaries, the unstoppable force and the immovable object. You relish in it.

"What were you playing?"

"Cache-Cache. Ludo."

The muscles in your face twitch. Confirmation and confidence rush through your veins.

"What are you doing Saturday evening?"

"Nothing much. Why do you ask?"

"Don't make any plans."

"Why? What's going on inside your head?"

You smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would. Very much."

She seems closer, the space between the two of you shrinking, like it is expanding in the universe.

You can see every detail in her eyes. Every speck of brown, green and gold. You could count her lashes if you wished to do so.

It's marvelous.

"Keep trying, maybe one day you will."

Her brow quirks. "You'd let me?"

You smile slyly. "If you're worthy."

"Why wouldn't I be worthy?"

Your shoulders are touching.

"Only you could know that."

She smirks. "So I decide wether I'm worthy or not?"

"If only it would be that easy."

"Life would be a cakewalk."

"Isn't it already?"

"It is."

Her head drops a fraction. Your eyes lose focus for a moment.

_Too close._

"Well, I shouldn't be making it any easier then, should I?"

You move away and reach for the box. The tension dissolves and disappears into nothingness. The burning in the pit of your stomach and aggressive beating of your heart remain.

There are carrots in the box.

You smile and your heart leaps.

"The cafeteria is pretty short of vegan stuff. I didn't trust any of the other things in there."

Her fingers press down on the keys nervously. Your eyes connect once more. You smile at her.

"Thank you."

She returns your smile radiantly.

"Teach me something?"

You spend the rest of your Thursday afternoon in a haze. You taught her the beginnings of Satie, a song she immediately took a liking to. You played a little for her, and she chose one from them. She got the left hand base chords down, and is now working on combining it with the right. You promised her to give her the sheet music.

She tried to pry loose any more information about Saturday, but you wouldn't crack. There were a couple more stare downs, but you made sure to put a stop to them before they got dangerous.

Thrilling and beautiful. But dangerous.

Friday hasn't been very eventful either. The sheet music you brought with you as promised is still sitting in your locker, waiting be be handed over. You think you'll give them to Quinn during lunch break, at least then you'll have plenty of time to search for her. You don't have any classes with her, and she always seems to disappear between classes, so lunch break is your best shot at this.

Your fourth class just ended, so with a little skip to your step you make your way to your locker. Once you've opened it and placed your books where they belong, you move to grab the sheets from the map you put them in (you wouldn't want them to be wrinkled), but a shadow appears on the lockers next to you and a familiar voice reaches your ears.

"Hey Rach, how is your day going?" Finn asks you with seemingly genuine interest. You know him well enough to hear that he didn't drop by to ask you how your day is going, he's ere for something else.

"It's been good," you tell him, "nothing special, but it hasn't been horrible in the slightest."

He smiles. "Good, great! I'm glad. So about tonight -" _Tonight? What is he talking about? Wha- _Oh god_ we had plans! He's taking me out! I completely forgot! God I'm such a terrible girlfriend. _"- shouldn't dress up. You wouldn't like it if you did."

_Wait, what? What did he say?_

_He told you not to dress up._

_Oh, okay. That it?_

_That's all I heard, girl, you were too busy distracting me with your pondering for me to hear anything else._

_Are you blaming me?_

_I am._

_Rude._

_It's the truth though._

You grumble inwardly.

"Okay, I won't." you tell him, "thank you for telling me."

Finn beams at you. "Yeah, sure! No problem. Are you excited?"

You open your mouth to answer him, but before you get the chance a painfully familiar sound echoes through the hallway, followed by a collective gasp from the student body. Everybody seems to stop moving, and as if they've rehearsed it countless times every set of eyes is turned to the source of the splashing noise.

Only two figures are moving. Karofsky and Azimio walk through the shell-shocked mass, fist bumping one another and giving each other wide grins. You trace back their route to find who was their target this time. Briefly you hope it's not one of the glee kids. Briefly you hope it's Jacob.

But it's not.

It's Quinn.

She's standing next to the lockers, apparently in a conversation with Santana and Brittany, who are still gaping at her like they can't believe what just happened. Red and blue ice are dripping from her face and staining her uniform, her mouth agape from the reflexive gasp the slushie never fails to cause.

A second passes. Two, five, ten.

"Oh, no he _didn't._" Santana comes back to life, her eyes ablaze with a rage you have never seen before. It's terrifying. Her jaw is set and her entire posture rigid as she briskly turns and storms after Karofsky.

Her movement seems to wake everyone from their state of shock and people begin moving again, the noise of hushed conversation fills the hall.

You are awoken as well, and without a moment's thought you grab your kit and rush to the cheerleader, Finn all but forgotten.

Brittany is still standing next to her, one hand on Quinn's shoulder, one gently wiping away shush from Quinn's face.

"Go to Santana, Brittany, I've got this," you say to the blonde as you reach the two of them.

"Santana will be fine, she's stronger than she looks," Brittany counters, a hint of pride in her voice.

"I know she will, but Karofsky won't if you don't go and stop her from murdering them."

The cheerio frowns. "I don't know if I want to."

"What?"

"Stop her."

Your jaw practically unhinges at the words that come out of her innocent mouth.

"You should. You're Superman, right? Superman saves lives. Go save some lives!" This seems to get through to her, and Brittany's face lights up and she nods before scurrying away in the direction Santana left in.

"Quick thinking."

"Thank you, Quinn." You take a moment to look at her. Purple blobs sag down her face and her hair. Suddenly you remember.

"Come on, we should get going. Cherry stains hair, if we wait much longer, you'll have red streaks." You take her by the arm and move her through the hallway into the nearest bathroom. With a courage you didn't know you possessed you bark to the girls inside to get lost and take Quinn to the sinks while the girls hurry out, exchanging slightly panicked and confused glances with each other.

You immediately get the water running and wave for Quinn to get closer so you can start washing her hair.

"Calm down, geez, it's not like I'm dying."

You put back the bottle you just picked up and place your hands on your hips. "Do you want pink hair?"

She chuckles. "Been there, done that," she says, shrugging a little. "I don't even think it was that bad. Several people told me it was hot once they'd gotten over the shock of it. Santana for one said that if it wasn't for B and the fact that I'm me, she would gladly get her mack on." You feel your cheeks grow hot and thank god for your natural tan obscuring your blush.

You remember the pink hair, and yes, it had looked rather good on her once you got used to it. Only at the time you didn't think that much of it. Now, vividly remembering what she looked like, your lower abdomen aches and your insides grow hotter by the second. That is a reaction the pink hair didn't use to provoke. Quinn's smirk isn't doing much to help the problem, so without looking at her you point to the sink.

She grins and bands over to wash the slush out of her hair. After a moment she stands upright and studies her hair in the mirror with a small frown before turning to you.

"Will it still stain?" she asks you. You motion for her to do a 360 and after she's done one you shake your head. "Good," she says, "come on, follow me."

And then she's walking out the bathroom. You're stunned in place for a moment before you regain your motor skills, grab the bottles from the sink and chase after her. The hallways by now are deserted, now that everyone has made their way into the cafeteria.

"Quinn, you really should wash your hair. There is still syrup and chunks of ice in it, and it is generally considered simply unhygienic not to -" you're cut off by Quinn, but there's no malice in her voice when she says "Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"Well, I always make sure to have one after the last few years, yes."

"But would you really make me wear them?"

Silence.

"I thought so. Now come on, I have a clean uniform in my locker."

"But your locker is the other way."

"Not that locker, dumbo." She moves through a door and you follow her without thinking.

It's only when you're standing in the middle of it and Quinn is opening up a locker that you realise you're in the cheerios' locker room.

"Quinn," you squeak, "I don't think I'm allowed to be in here."

"You're with me, you're fine," she calls back,dumping a clean uniform on the bench before turning back to her locker.

"Quinn, I still think you should wash your hair." Her head peeks from behind her locker door and she smiles at you.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she asks, and then she's stepping away from the door, closing it, a towel in hand.

_Oh, god please no._

She places it next to her uniform and moves past you to the door. After she's glanced down the hallway she closes the door again and locks it. "Just to be sure," she tells you.

You don't answer her.

_God, please don't let her do this. Please don't do this to me. I'm sorry I forgot about Finn's date, I truly am, but _please_ don't punish me like this._

But there's a soft flopping sound and your legs almost give way when your eyes fall on Quinn in only her cheerios skirt and a sports bra. You think it's best you sit down.

The bench is cold under your thighs, ice cold, and you feel goosebumps erupt all over. Your entire body has grown hot, and you feel like you're on the verge of spontaneously evaporating.

"Are you okay?"

_No, I'm not god damnit, what does it look like?_

_Forgive her foul language, she means no harm._

_Shut up. And _you_, don't talk to me, don't look at me, pretend I don't exist and please just get this _over_ with!_

You want to tell her you're fine, but you don't trust your voice right now. It feels fragile, like a century old book with an almost decomposed binding, ready to fall apart if you all but point at it. You're sure your voice will break in the same way, and that is an embarrassment you'd rather avoid. So you only nod, your eyes frightful despite your attempts to conceal it. She catches it with no difficulty at all.

"Are you sure?" _NO. _"Is it-" she looks at you worriedly, her eyes studying your quasi neutral face before flitting to the towel in her hand and her exposed torso. Her eyes seem to lighten up in some sort of recognition. "Have you never-" she gestures to herself, the situation at hand, but speaks again before you have the chance to either confirm or deny. You don't even know which one you would have done. "Oh, god, Rachel, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I'll be quick okay?"

_Yeah, you do that._

She turns and grabs her stuff before moving away from you. You know she's separating from you out of respect, even though you don't know out of respect of what. Does she know that the mere sight of her stomach is practically melting you on the spot, or does she think that it's because you're not used to seeing other people naked, for whatever reason. This is actually true. Due to your intensive dance lessons, the school allowed you to skip PE, because you get your physical exercise elsewhere, as long as you hand in proof at the end of every semester. You choose to use this as an explanation should she bring it up.

But she doesn't, and keeps moving away from you. She's almost reached the end of the row lockers, and you can feel in your bones that she will turn the corner when she reaches it. It hurts. You know that she's doing it for you, as a friendly gesture, but it still hurts. It's torture. You can't bear to look at her because the sight of her lights you on fire (quite literally, in your opinion. It practically hurts), but your eyes seem to be glued to her, rendering you unable to look away. They drink in every curve her back has to offer you, every muscle flexing as she walks, every shade of creamy white skin they can find.

You want to touch it, cherish it, summon goosebumps as you let the tip of your finger trail down her shoulder, over her shoulder blade, over the small of her back. You want to feel its softness on your palm and know wether her ribs at the small of her back fit your hands as perfectly as they seem to. You want to count her ribs with your fingers, one by one, and the vertebras in her spine, feeling every dip as they go. You want to know what her skin smells like, you want to smell the ocean again and trace the area where her neck flows into her shoulder with your lips.

You tear your eyes away from her. Your breathing will not move past your larynx and you choke down on the want that threatens to escape you in a shuddering breath and fluttering eyelashes. Your skin is buzzing in perfect harmony with your heart, and it reminds you of the orchestra tuning their instruments before a performance, that swelling sound, perfect in pitch and harmony, and it makes you feel like you can fly. Your eyes close and you revel in that feeling, shoving the aching in the pit of your stomach as far back in your mind as you can manage.

The sound of a shower being turned on catches your attention and you look to the end of the the row of lockers, suddenly painfully aware of what is happening at most ten meters away from you. Want lurches at your insides and you feel like there's an arm stretching out from your chest, from your heart, reaching for her. It's pulling your body, urging it toward the sound that is breaking the deafening silence in the locker room, encouraging you to give in for once, to take what you want and make it yours.

You want to. Make her yours. God, how you want to. But the shower is turned off before your longings can get the best of you and you hear the patting of bare feet on the tiles. Rustling follows it, and it's all you can do to just stay put. The silence is awkward, loaded.

"I-I'm sorry I made this so uncomfortable for you," you blurt, "I don't know what came over me." She remains silent for a couple of seconds, but you notice the rustling of cloth has stopped.

"You've never showered with others, have you?" Ah, there she is.

"Yes," you answer her timidly, blushing lightly and ducking your head even though you know she can't see you.

"Well, how could I blame you then?" her voice echoes less and you know she's moved closer. "I put you in an unfamiliar situation without even thinking about you. I simply assumed something that turned out to be incorrect. The blame is mine." There is hardy an echo left, and when you look up, you see her standing at the end of the row lockers, her towel and slush-covered uniform in hand. Her hair is damp and cradles her face, her face pink from the hot water. She has tilted her head slightly to the side and is regarding you with gentle eyes, reassuring, apologizing. You notice a few drops of water at the base of her neck and startle before averting you gaze, fixing it on your folded hands in your lap.

"I can't blame you," you say, "You didn't know. You couldn't have known. I should have told you." Squeaks resound in the room. The scent of coconut registers in your mind. She used your shampoo. Your eyes slip closed while warmth envelops you from the inside out.

"Don't say that."

Too soft. Too intense. Too close.

Your eyes snap up. She's squatted down and is now at eye-level with you. Your eyes feast on her warm amber sprinkled over emerald, the healthy glow over her have, the affection shining in her eyes, the beads of water on her neck.

Panic crashes over you like a tidal wave, and you jerk away from her. It was supposed to subtle, but that didn't actually happen. You put too much force behind your movement, and your momentum carries you up and backwards at the same time. In a second you rise to your feet, your calves catching behind the bench, and you feel yourself topple over, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Can't hurt trying though.

You propel yourself sideways, in an attempt to find a position where you can swing your leg over the bench in order to catch yourself, but the bench is too high, and your forehead hits the lockers behind you. You bounce off it and manage to pull up your shoulder high enough to prevent the two from meeting again. Your butt hits the floor and everything comes to a stop.

"Oh god, Rachel are you okay? Are you bleeding? Should I take you to the nurse?" Quinn is already sitting beside you, trying to pry the hand away from your head to take in the damage.

"_Ouch_," you murmur as you remove your hand yourself, looking at it as if your hand is the one hurting instead of your head. Quinn exhales beside you.

"At least you're not bleeding. How is your head? Does it hurt? Oh, wait, stupid question, I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry. God. Wait. Give me a second, I'll help you to the nurse." She takes your left arm and moves her own arm underneath it, around your back. Your arm automatically falls to rest around her shoulders. She grabs your hand with her free one and rotates you until she can hoist you up. If the situation had been any different you would have had a minor aneurism from being this close to her, but the situation remains the same, and you grunt extremely attractive as you're pulled to your feet.

You sway for a moment, but her arm tightens around you and she keeps you upright. Her hand grasps yours a little tighter and you hear her voice again. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

"Nooo," you drawl, "It's him, he's close, and he's angry. He's scared too. He knows what we took, he knows we're hunting horcruxes."

Quinn stills completely, she stops walking, she even seems to stop breathing, only her hands tense, her nails digging softly into your skin. You only now realize what you said. Your right hand still cradled to your forehead, you nervously look up to her. She's staring right back at you, her eyes boring into yours, but her expression unreadable. Then she opens her mouth.

"You - you let him in?"

_GO ON! SUPPRESS THAT GRIN!_ "Yes. I saw it." _GOOD JOB._

"You can't just _do_ that, Rachel!"

"I can't always help it, you know!" Whatever, fuck it. You're grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Her eyes are shining like a child's who just found their presents under the christmas tree. "Or maybe I can, I don't know."

Her mouth twists in that way when she's trying to stop herself from smiling, just like she did when glee club sat in that circle and talked about what they were looking forward to. "You hit your head really hard, didn't you?"

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**A/N: Welcome (back)!**

**It's been a while! Thank you for sticking around, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was supposed to be longer, but then I hit the 12 pages in texteditor and I thought it was long enough. Also writer's block. Yeah, that one's still very much present... I can't say for sure when I will be updating again. I've got the story planned out, I just need to write it down. That proves to be a bigger problem than it sounds...**

**((SKIP THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT ANY PERSONAL RAMBLING) Just a little fun fact in between, I write the first drafts at school, but because of writer's block, this chapter got stuck. My head was still swimming with faberry though, so I thought it would be a swell idea to write down the idea that has been haunting me forever about their first kiss (which sadly enough is a loooong way from here, but we're getting there... slowly...). And it was a BAD idea, because I was in the middle of a classroom and the teacher walking around sometimes thinks it's a good idea to take a look at what it is you're doing, and no, he didn't find it, but it was so awkward, and you know how when you write stuff you're, like, _living_ it? like you're standing in the middle of it? Yeah, that happened, so it was uncomfortable as fuck and I just went all_ ABORT ABORT_, but now it's still in the notebook, and the notebook is a standard in my bag, so my hands are _itching_ to finish it, but I don't dare to do so because _awkward_. Well, that was my little rant.)**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and please do review. It's good to know wether people think I'm dragging things out too much or not, because I'm afraid I might be doing so. Or just tell me what you thought. Reviews off all nature are appreciated _greatly_.**


	12. Escalation

**Escalation.**

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**A/N: I really need to thank Sdiaz and the other guest for reviewing, though I think it's really sad I can't answer you directly, so let me do it this way! ^^**

_**Sdiaz:**_** Thank you very much! And I will, I have some scenes I want to write from Quinn's perspective, they're still somewhat far off, but trust me, it'll happen ^^**

_**Guest:**_** (oy, what? not even a name? whyyyy?) Just because it's a Rachel POV fix, doesn't necessarily mean that she also falls in love first ;] Also, I don't think it would be realistic if Quinn was to make the first move, especially now that she's still living in Lima, still in High School. I don't think Quinn would have the balls to actually tell Rachel how she feels before moving to Yale. And yes, I did, but I also explained why I took such a long break this last chapter. I had finals, so I didn't have time to write, really. Also writer's block, but I'l try my best to update every ten days from now on ;] Thank you for reading and telling me your thoughts! ^^**

**(also, I'm kind of tired of finding the song on youtube… and it's not really of any significance either, so I won't be giving you youtube links this time. **

**Anyway, the song is What The Water Gave Me by Florence And The Machine)**

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_**ALSO!**__** From now on, the M rating will be in effect. This is a first time thing for me, so if you notice anything, please do tell me ^^**_

* * *

Quinn leaves as soon as she knows you'll be okay. She stays until the school nurse has done the most basic tests to see wether you remember who you are, what the date is and where you are fine, if you can still focus on her finger is it's moving in front of you, that sort of thing. You pass all of them, and the nurse tells you that you may law down here until the headache passes, but that after that you should go home, just to make sure you won't get hurt any further. She hands you some ibuprofen and returns to whatever it was she was doing before. Quinn sits on the bed in silence while the nurse performs the tests, and after you move over she moves to the foot side and watches you until you've laid yourself down. Then she stands up and moves her hands over her thighs as if to brush away some dirt or dust that lay on them.

She looks over to you and asks you wether you will be okay. You answer her yes, and she smiles and tells you good. Then she walks past the curtain and closes it around your bed. You hear her footsteps leave the room as she goes.

As you're laying on the bed in the school nursery, there's not much more that you can do than stare up at the ceiling. It's made from those rectangular plates that are lain down on a frame, those with pointless, random splatters of gray on them. You count the splatters of gray on one of the plates (73) and figure that, with the room having approximately 32 plates, that makes for 2336 spots in total.

That was productive.

You notice not every plate has the same splatter pattern though, so you decide to count the amount of splatters in the other plates as well. Before you've counted the number of splatters on the second plate, you fall asleep, the ibuprofen finally kicking in and releasing you of your headache's death grip.

When you wake up, it's ten past two, and the nurse has left her office. Your headache is gone, so you get up from the bed and do a double take on the room to make sure the nurse isn't still there. She's not, but you notice a note on her desk that gives you permission to take the rest of the day off. You take it and make your way out the door. The halls are empty as you walk to your locker to dump the last of your books before getting to your car and driving home.

Neither of your dads are home, which is nothing new for you, really, but you find yourself somewhat relieved, even though you have a note excusing you. After you take off your coat you walk to the cabinet in the living room and miraculously find some tape in the drawers with which you tape the note to the communicating door in the hallway, just in case one of your fathers comes home earlier than usual.

You leave your bag downstairs as you make your way up to your room. Once you get in there, you plug in your iPod to the sound system and select a playlist you have created for the peaceful moments you sometimes need. When you bend down to do so you feel pressure rise on your head and groan. You select the playlist anyway, and Debussy comes through. You close your eyes and sigh in relief when the soothing sound enters your ears.

Standing up negates that relief though; your head feels like it's being pressed together by all the air around it, and you grasp for your forehead and groan again.

That ibuprofen was good while it lasted, only it didn't last very long. You drag yourself to the bathroom and conjure up your daddy's toilet bag. He's got the better stuff against pain. You pop two of the pills out and swallow them down with a glass of water. After that you return to your room.

All you want is to collapse on your bed, but you think better of it, so you carefully lay yourself down. You let the music envelop you and you can feel all of your muscles relax as you focus on the gentle sound flowing from your speakers. Your eyes drift closed and with it, the noticeable tension in your temples lessens, and your headache subsides a little.

Outside, the tree next to the garage rustles in the wind. A car drives by. The rustling continues without interruption.

* * *

Two rapid knocks on your door startle you out of your peaceful moment. When you open your eyes, you find that they are sensitive to the light coming through your window and bouncing off your walls. You grunt and lift a hand to your face to cover your eyes.

"Come in," you grumble, and Leroy's head moves past the open door through the crack, in a position that you previously thought to be utterly unattainable for humans.

"Errm, honey, it's half past six, and there is a very tall young man standing on our doorstep." You shoot upright.

_IT'S HALF PAST _SIX_?!_

_When did that happen?_

_Don't ask me! I don't know!_

_Well FUCK!_

You completely forgot about your date with Finn. _Completely_ forgot.

Also, you slept for almost four hours. What?

You are up in the blink of an eye and instantly throwing open your closet. How is this even possible? You _never_ oversleep, you never nap, you never forget appointments. Yet here you are: overnapping on the evening of your boyfriend's special date, which was a secret you forgot to even _try_ to discover. You realize you have no idea what you're attending to.

What do you _wear?_

Oh, wait, don't dress up. That's right, he said so himself.

You stand in front of the full body size mirror and look at yourself. Your wearing a navy blue skirt with a striped sweater, white knee-socks underneath. You squint at your reflection and think for a moment.

Yeah, it's fine. Don't dress up, he told you, so you won't dress up. It'll be fine.

"Honey?" Your daddy is still standing in the door opening.

"Oh, tell him I'll be down in a minute, please, daddy?"

He nods, never taking his eyes off you, looking at you curiously. Then his head moves past the door again and you hear him close the door as you scurry into the bathroom to fix your hair and make-up.

Two minutes later you're downstairs and walking into the living room, where Finn is rather awkwardly sitting on the sofa next to your dad, while your pa is rampaging in the kitchen. You have no idea what he's doing, and you're not sure you want to know either. At the sound of your footsteps Finn whirls around, and his face lights up when he sees you. He's promptly on his feet, visibly relieved that you're there to save him from the loaded silence that was hanging between him and Leroy.

He's wearing jeans and his jacket, apparently he didn't feel the need to take it off, or he just wanted to make it clear that he didn't intend on staying. You can easily see that he isn't really dressed for a date either, so at least you're not the only one. Your curiosity is spiked again as to where he will be taking you.

Even for a standard dinner at breadstix you tend to dress up, just because you _can_, and you like to dress the way you like when you're sure there won't be a slushie waiting for you around the corner. Your mind flashes back to what Kurt had said earlier this week.

Apparently you're under the protection of Quinn, and no-one can touch you. Did she ban you? When did that happen? And does that mean that you can stop wearing those sweaters? Because, there's nothing wrong with them, really, you've come to like them after having worn them for so long, but it would be nice to wear something different for once. Without having to fear for slushies. Maybe someday soon…

"So," Finn breathes, "you ready?" He looks really excited, he's taking deep breaths, which seems to make him glow somehow. you figure it's for something to do with the way his chest expands forward, and how he appears to store air that no longer fits in his lungs in his mouth, making him look like an excited child who's been promised a lollipop.

You smile at him and nod. "Yeah, of course."

"Cool," he turns to your dad, and your pa, who has by now emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron, covered in smears of … something. "Well, then, we'll be going now. Mr Berry, Mr Berry." He holds out his hand for Leroy to shake first before moving to Hiram.

"Call me Leroy, boy. Mr Berry gets so confusing in this house." your dad tells him (not unfriendly) when he shakes his hand.

"I'm sorry Mr - Leroy. Habit." Finn stands up straight after having shaken Hiram's hand as well, and he's wearing his trademark lopsided grin, scratching at his neck in embarrassment.

Leroy playfully smacks his arm and with a wink says, "I understand. Just try to remember."

You wonder whether all of the men avoid using each other's names because they keep forgetting them.

"I will, sir."

"Leroy."

"Leroy, sir."

Your dad shoots Hiram a look and you have to suppress a giggle. Instead, you place a hand on his forearm to grab his attention.

"We should go."

"Yeah, okay, let me start the car." He turns and walks out of the front door, while your fathers now turn to you.

"You know the drill, home before midnight, no drinking, no funny business." You simply beam at them and kiss them both on the cheek.

"Don't worry daddy. I'll be safe."

"Do you have your phone with you?"

"Yes."

"Is it charged?"

"Fully." You show them the battery.

"Good. Now go and have fun." Your pa kisses you on the cheek one last time and shoves you toward the door a little. You giggle and skip out the door, closing it behind you. Finn has by now driven the car out on the road, and is waiting for you, one arm resting in the window opening, the other on the wheel. You carefully cross the road before moving into the seat next to him.

He grins at you and waits until you've put on your seatbelt before driving away. He knows how much you care for such protocol. Safety first. Everything else comes second.

"Now, am I finally allowed to know where it is you're taking me?"

His grin widens. "No, not yet. But you'll see."

You shoot daggers at him and mentally urge him to tell you where you're headed, but he looks straight ahead, and only after five seconds of intense telepathic communication from your end, he shoots you a glance, but still doesn't say anything. He only smirks some more.

He drives to his house, and when you arrive, he turns to you and tells you to wait here. He winks at you as he closes the door and lazily runs to his front door. He disappears inside, and you're left alone for a minute or two. In that time, you decide to plug in your iPod, and you select shuffle, because you don't really feel like listening to a song in particular. You just let your iPod surprise you. It chooses What The Water Gave Me by Florence and The Machine.

You squint at yourself for a second, but decide to let it play. It's a catchy song, and though it's not as upbeat as you're feeling right now, it'll do.

Light shines over the porch, and your attention is drawn to Finn exiting his home again. He's just as empty-handed as he was when he went in there, so you're confused as to what it was that he had to do in there that was so urgent it couldn't wait until after your date. When he re-enters his car he's still smiling broadly, but you make no remark of it this time.

"Sorry about that," he says, as he turns the key and the engine roars to life, "I really had to take care of something just now." He swings his arm over the chair, resting his hand on the back of your seat as he reversed the car onto the road.

"And it couldn't wait until after out date?" you ask him. Now that he's mentioned it himself you're not going to pass up this opportunity. Finn has by now successfully maneuvered the car next to the sidewalk, and it switching it back from reverse. Before driving away he looks at you again and smiles sweetly.

"No." He bends toward you and pecks you on the cheek. "But I'm not telling you why or what I did."

"Why not?" you whine.

"It's a secret." He winks at you and drives off.

He appears to know the song, because he starts tapping his fingers to the wheel in time with the beat, and when the chorus hits, you can hear him softly humming along. The car ride itself is spent is relative silence. You keep quiet as much as possible, because you know that if you talk now, the only thing coming out will be an interrogation about why everything is a secret tonight and what they are.

He probably knows this, and wisely decides not to speak up.

You drive out of town, and up a small road you've never been on before. He takes a right, and now you're on a path that consists of only dirt and is incredibly uncomfortable to drive on. It doesn't last too long though, because after only a short while does a building emerge from the darkness. It's early spring, so the days are still short, even though the winter cold has passed and the trees are regrowing their leaves to start a new year.

Getting closer, you notice it's somewhat of a farm. It's not really one, but it's a rather large one story building, and slightly hidden behind it is a barn. There are no animals or crops in sight, so you guess it used to be a farm, but is now used only for living in by those that prefer the outdoors.

Finn parks the car next to an old-looking truck and gets out again. When you move to follow him, he asks you again to stay put. You look at him confused but plop back in your seat anyway. He smiles at you apologetically and closes the door before walking up the porch and ringing the bell. You can only see him en profile as the door is answered and his face is bathed in the light coming from inside the house.

He and the invisible person have a short conversation in which Finn seems to be asking a couple of questions, receiving answers and nodding in approval. He raises his hand and points with his thumb in a random direction, but the person he's talking to seems to understand and you can see Finn nodding at whatever answer he's given. He smiles broadly and holds out his hand for the other person to shake.

You see a shadow retreat on the porch, and Finn searches for you for eye contact. He holds up his index finger and disappears as well, the door remaining open, yellow, warm light flooding over the porch.

After maybe twenty seconds Finn re-emerges again, this time carrying a fire resistant bowl, covered with a lid, so you can't see what's inside. He turns around and nods his head to the other person in what appears to be thanks. Then he makes his way over to you again.

He sets the bowl on the hood of the car so that he has his hands free again, and opens the door for you. After you've exited the car he locks it and picks up the bowl again. He turns back to you and smiles his exited smile.

"Okay, come on! Follow me!" he says, and he starts walking toward the barn. You follow him a little hesitantly. You don't really trust the looks of that barn. Though that's probably because Finn once persuaded you to watch The Walking Dead with him. There was a barn that turned out to be full of zombies, so yeah, you don't really like the looks of that barn.

When you reach the double doors, Finn nudges it open with his shoulder, and slowly, a warmly lit room is revealed. It still is a barn though, and there is hay lying on the floor and piled up against the walls. There is nothing there but hay, in fact. Yet Finn grins at you and walks further into the barn. He walks into a somewhat darker corner of it and you follow him once you see he's climbing up a couple of stairs. You didn't think there would be stairs in here. A ladder maybe, but no stairs.

When you reach the top, you're met by somewhat of a picnic layout. There are blankets and quilts spread out on the floor, cushions against the wall, and even something that might resemble a table. The picnic is placed in an area of the second floor where the walls push out more than general for a large window, which is more like the size of a door.

When Finn sees you looking at it, he says, "We can open them if you want."

You nod at him, curious to what will happen. Finn smiles and sets down the bowl on the table, before moving to the windows and unlocking them. In a smooth movement, they swing open, leaving the two of you sitting on some sort of balcony, even though it's now more of a giant hole in the wall. There is a lamp hanging above the table, giving you exactly enough light to make out what you're doing, but still be subtle in its presence.

You move to the corner behind which is the now-almost-balcony and peer around its corner. It looks out over the vast land, on your left hand you can still see the house of the owners, on your right nothing but field, a tree planted at seemingly random places. It's rather cloudy, but every once in a while, gaps appear in the gray blanket, letting through the forming night sky. It's rather beautiful.

A delicious scent invades your senses and pulls you from your inner musings. Finn has plopped down on some of the cushions and has lifted the lid from the bowl he had brought with him. Inside it are several other bowls of delicious looking food, which he is now placing on the table, emptying the bowl. Once he's done, he puts the fire resistant bowl aside and looks up at you expectantly. When you say nothing at first, he begins to fidget, no longer able to maintain eye contact as well.

"So," he breaks the silence, "What do you think?"

You swallow in an attempt to wet your dry mouth and throat before speaking. "How did you do this?"

"My mom knew the people that live here, and, well, they offered to cook for us. It's something they like to do, cook for other people. It once was the guy's dream to become a chef, but that didn't work out, so now they cook for other people for kicks." He looks at you unsurely, wearing his lopsided smile again, but not in the cocky way he usually does. He looks insecure, hopeful, asking for approval, so you gladly give it to him.

You walk over until you're standing in front of him. Even sitting down, he easily reaches your stomach. You plop down on your knees and take his face between your hands.

"I love it," you tell him, smiling, before leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. You can feel him smile into it, and you do the same. His hands come to a rest on your hips and you feel him straighten his back in order to attain more contact. The kiss remains innocent, and when you press your lips to his a final time before resting your foreheads together, you both feel and hear him exhale contentedly.

You peck him on the lips once again before sitting down on your own share of pillows and redirecting your attention to the bowls of delicious smelling food in front of you. A thought hits you and you turn back to Finn.

"Is it vegan?"

"Yeah, all of it. They asked me beforehand if there was anything they should take notion of, so I told them. They said they'd take care of it and that I shouldn't worry." He looks really pleased with himself, and for once, you really can't blame him.

Again, you press your lips to his softly in a thank you before voicing it. Anytime, he tells you. You know this is a lie, this will probably be a one-time thing, but you're grateful that he managed to put it together even once, so you simply smile at him before moving to help yourself to some of the truly delicious looking mushroom rice bowl.

The two of you eat in a comfortable silence, both so in awe of the delicious food and the scenery that you forget that you are supposed to talk. Somehow, it doesn't feel right to eat food this good without undivided attention.

Finn manages a full of three servings, while you feel sedated enough after having a little of all the different bowls. The food that you don't eat is gladly eaten by Finn, and he leaves nothing.

When Finn leans back fulfilled as well, you move into him and rest your head on his shoulder. His arm moves behind you and fits you against him more snugly. He rests his head on top of yours and you both sit quiet for a moment. You can hear him breathe from the inside out, like you can hear the air rushing through his bronchia into his lungs and out again. His heart beats in a steady rhythm.

"I didn't know vegan food could be this good," he breaks the silence.

Instantly, you move up and smack him on the arm.

"Ouch! Hey! What did I say?" he whines, but he's smiling, holding up his hands in a protective way. You smack him again. "Hey! I can't help that your dads aren't such gods in the kitchen as these people!"

You hit him again, and he laughs fully this time, and, infectious as it is, you follow suit. He manages to grab your hands and pull you down, landing you on top of his chest again. His laughter sounds both hollow and full from your position there. After a couple of seconds the laughter has died down and you're left comfortably lying on the blankets.

"You don't get to say anything about my vegan chocolate chip cookies though," you murmur into his chest after a while. You feel him shake lightly with laughter, and you push yourself up on one arm, hovering over him. His chin is lying on his chest, giving him a little of a second chin, and he's grinning.

"You won't _ever_ hear me complain about your chocolate chip cookies," he tells you, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "Ever."

He pulls you down gently and kisses you again. Immediately, you feel that he's kissing you with more feeling than before. Where it was earlier a sign of affection, it's now a sign of passion, of want. His lips slide over yours actively, never lingering, while the hand on your cheek moves to your neck. You can feel his fingers grab the skin there tightly, wishing you closer than you can get.

Underneath you, you can feel his heart hammering in his chest, louder, faster than before. He nips at your upper lip, your bottom lip, once, and then he's urging open your mouth. On instinct and habit you let him in, and in a second, his tongue is touching yours. The two of you don't fight, but you don't dance either, it's a series of movements that, when you look back on them, have no sense of direction or purpose. They're just there, wanting, asking, taking more than they're getting, simply because it's all both of you seem to want.

You pull away for air, and move up your chin, so that he's incapable of following you. Instead, his lips drag down your jawline until they reach your neck, where they plant wet, sloppy kisses. His breath feels cold on the places where he's kissed you, and scorching hot where he hasn't.

Your head drops down until your chin is level with his temple, and you can't stop your mouth from falling open when you feel him nip at your neck and his tongue drags over your pulse point. You wonder what it's like, tasting skin like that. In a flash you can imagine it, the smooth surface of a neck under your lips, the movement that comes when they swallow, the rapid fluttering of a pulse point, the sound of a breathy gasp next to your ear.

With a small gasp you pull away.

You're both left panting, and he's looking at you questioningly. Also a little hurt.

"We shouldn't," you say, and he swallows thickly. Your eyes track the movement.

Not as smooth as you'd imagined.

_Stop._

"It was getting out of hand, I'm sorry," you say, as you look away and lick your lips. From your peripheral vision you can see him nod and sit up a little.

"Yeah, yeah you're right. Me too."

A tense silence envelops the two of you.

Your lips are still tingling, your neck still burning with his kisses. You can still feel his fingers pressing down on your neck, and his other hand caressing your hip. You take a shaky breath and look at the table.

"We should-"

"Yeah, we should."

* * *

The drive home is silent as well, but there is no iPod preventing the silence from becoming painful this time. You feel the overwhelming urge to say something, to apologize, to explain what just happened, why you stopped it. From the seat beside you, you can feel the same energy radiating in waves.

But neither of you actually speaks up. You don't know why.

Your heart is still beating hard. You're still breathing with your chest instead of your stomach. Your skin still tingles. The fire in the pit of your stomach still burns.

When he drops you off, he kisses you on the cheek and tells you goodbye. When you move out of the car to your front door, he remains seated. When you've waved him goodbye again and closed the door behind you, you see his taillights disappearing.

You don't know what time it is. You don't care either. The light in the hallway is turned off, a sign that your fathers are probably already in bed. You take off your shoes and move up the stairs as quietly as you can. Once you've entered the safety of your own room you sag against the closed door and sigh.

You run a hand through your hair and push yourself off the wall. Standing in the middle of your room, you pull your sweater over your head and throw it in the direction of your chair. You can't find it in yourself to care where it lands. When your shirt follows it, the cool evening air washes over your stomach in a stark contrast. Involuntarily, your muscles flex and a shiver runs down your spine. It stays buzzing in your abdomen.

You strip off your skirt and socks while holding yourself up against the headboard of your bed. You let them lay where they fall.

When you put on the oversized shirt you sleep in, you are hyper aware of wherever it touches your skin. You can feel it cascade down your back in painful detail, as if in slow motion, recorded with a high definition camera. When you straighten it down, you feel your nipples strain against the fabric.

Your eyes droop closed as you curse internally.

You try to move under the covers with as little movement as possible, but it proves impossible. By the time you're laying down, the fire in the pit of your stomach is so fierce it practically hurts. You move onto your back, and the movement causes both the covers and your shirt to move past your already sensitive breasts, and your eyes roll back.

_Oh, fuck it._

You let your hand travel down your body until it reaches the end of the shirt. There, you first lay it to rest on your stomach, fingertips as light as possible, setting the nerves on edge. Slowly, you drag your fingers over the smooth expanse of your abdomen, feeling the muscle twitch lightly underneath. You never allow your hand to touch fully, always restricting yourself to just the ghost of a touch, until you feel your hips jerk.

You let your fingers toy with the band of your underwear for a moment as you take a breath and let your eyes slip closed. Then you move yourself under the waistband and dare dip down into the area that is by now screaming, pleading for attention. Your abs twitch and your breath hitches when you feel how wet you already are. How did this even happen?

You breathe out shakily and dip into the warmth before dragging your finger back up, until you hit the bundle of nerves begging to be touched. At the sensation, your lips part and your eyes stare at the ceiling unseeingly. As you begin moving you imagine Finn doing this to you, kissing your neck, while teasing you, testing the waters. (ha. I'm sorry)

You imagine him pleasing you like this until you can't take it any more, the emptiness, until he enters you. As you do so, you ease a digit inside, your hand twitching at the heat that now envelops it.

You imagine how he would pleasure you, whether he would be rough, of gentle, whether he'd stay close to you, or hold himself up on his arms as best as they would carry him. Whether he would last.

No, wait, he wouldn't. Not from what you've heard about him at least.

Instantly, the fantasy itself becomes unsatisfying, unraveling in Finn coming so early he only leaves you wanting _more_, but he's no longer able to do anything. You immediately replace him with his hand, that would keep him from coming.

You focus on the movements, on the way the fire seems to flare sometimes, how it already feels like you would die if it isn't brought to a fitting end. Slowly, the rest of the body pleasing you seems to fade, only a hand remaining. Feather light touches, teasing you, abiding you, pleasing you exactly the way you want them to.

Another brush of skin on your ribs, a hand softly trailing down your sides, caressing the skin there. A breath on your ear. The silken tickle of hair on your cheek. The ghost of lips trailing down your jaw from your ear to your collarbone, never quite touching, never quite there. Breaths still heat the skin on your neck, sending shivers from there to everywhere, pulsating deliciously in your core. Your movements grow rapid, impatient, desperate. You move in small, tight circles, every once in a while pressing down hard, shooting sparks throughout your entire body. Lips drag up the expanse of your throat, hovering over your ear, breathing hot puffs of breath over the left side of your face.

Then they're gone, the only sensations being the one in your core and the almost there brush of a nose on the hollow under your ear. You can feel your eyes rolling back, your back arching as the fire builds and builds, moving through you like ripples around a stone thrown in still water, intensifying the longer they flow. The waves become higher, broader, until you're filled to the brim, where it hovers for a moment, buzzing sweetly. Then, lips move against your ear, breath washing over it as you hear a husky voice speak. _"Come, Rachel."_ A glimpse of creamy white, a flash of gold. Everything implodes and a white-hot pleasure envelops you from the inside out. It wraps around you like a blanket, yet feels like there are electric shocks running trough your body irregularly, disabling you from ever getting used to it. It seeps out of your toes, your fingers and your chest until you feel so light you're positive you're floating.

You're left buzzing when you come down to earth again, and for a minute you allow yourself to bask in the afterglow, lying limply in your bed, chest heaving, eyes closed.

Then the reality of the situation dawns on you.

What made you come? The voice? The gold? It had been unmistakable, and you manage to suppress a sob by mashing your lips together fiercely as it attempts to rip through your body.

The husky, lazy quality of the voice, the way it had breathed your name, barely pronouncing the final syllable, the hard sound of the 'ch' lingering in the think silence, still echoing in your ears.

It had not been thoughts of Finn to relieve you. It had been Quinn.

* * *

**A/N: Hmmm.. *coughs rather awkwardly***

**Okay, so. This was a first for me. Ever. So if you come across anything worth mentioning, wether they are tips, critique or whatever, please tell me? Because I **_**will**_** be needing your advice.**

**Or please just tell me what you thought of it. In general. Much obliged! ;D**

**Also, I'm sorry about the Finchel. I just needed… something. For Rachel. You get the idea..**


	13. Charms

When you wake the next day you are instantly restless. There is a strange, buzzing tension coursing through your veins, making you irritable and setting you on edge. You immediately change into sweats and a tank top and hop up on your elliptical, hoping to sport it off. But your eyes keep drifting to your bed and your mind keeps returning to yesterday evening and you _can't focus_ and you feel like the room itself is smothering you. You need to get out of here.

You hop off the elliptical and rush downstairs where you have some vegan cereal before slipping on your running shoes and disappearing out the front door.

It's not quite bright yet, and the sky has this indescribable quality where you can see the night sky in the west flowing through an odd state of green and yellow to reach the pale, grayish blue morning colour spring mornings have. If you chose to pay attention to it, you'd be able to see the metallic blue chase the night until it forfeits and disappears behind the horizon. In your ears, Suliman sets the pace.

When you get back home from your run your fathers greet you from the kitchen, and you walk over to tell them good morning. You take a glass out of one of the cupboards and fill it with water. Your fathers watch in silence as you gulp it down at once.

"You know you'll get a headache, right?" Hiram quips. you shrug and fill the glass again.

"I'm thirsty."

"So it would seem." You shoot your dad a pointed look. "Anyway, tell us about your date. We haven't seen you since Flip picked you up."

You take a deep breath at his getting wrong Finn's name again before answering him, hoping your voice is steadier than it feels. "It was really great! He took e to some kind of farm where they'd transformed the barn to a romantic place for dinner and they made all these delicious dishes, and the best part was that everything was vegan, so I could annually eat everything and Finn even admitted that he thought it was amazing."

"That sounds really great honey!" your dad says, obviously glad that you had a good time and blissfully oblivious to the sour ending your evening had had. You let them believe and announce that you're going upstairs to take a shower. As your legs are having a late breakdown from your morning run you drag yourself upstairs. You change your mind when you enter the bathroom; there is no way your legs would be able to last through a shower. You'll take a bath instead. Isn't that supposed to help against sore muscles? You stumble through your room to get new sweatpants, a loose sweater and your laptop, dump them on the chair in the bathroom that has this function as a meaning for life and therefore is now standard furniture, and turn open the tabs, filling the tub with hot water and with it the room in a dense fog. You rinse yourself from sweat in the shower swiftly (you're not going to bathe in water that has been mingling with the very thing you're trying to get rid of, thank you very much) and afterwards lower yourself into the bath, careful not to wet your hands, because you still have to switch on your laptop and select a movie to watch.

You scroll past the list of films on your laptop, not knowing which one to pick, until you arrive at the Harry Potter section. The scrolling comes to a halt as you stare at the eight titles on your screen. Your mind travels back to that time in the locker room, when Quinn had admitted to being more than a little familiar with the series by quoting along with you.

You can't suppress the smile that works its way onto your face and decide 'what's the harm?', selecting the first movie and full-screening it. The bath has filled up nicely by now, and you place your laptop on the far side of the tub, where the edges broaden, so that it won't fall off and settle down in the water. It's just like you're being actively hugged by a warm blanket, so you shimmy down as much as possible, only your face staying above the water surface, your bottom lip seemingly resting on it.

As the opening scene of the very first Harry Potter resounds through the room, nostalgia hits you hard. In the first scene, when Dumbledore appears (apparates) on Privet Drive, only feather light notes can be heard, the violin setting in only when we realise that a gray bearded man just appeared out of nowhere, wearing cloaks that are anything but usual. You can feel the child-like excitement stir in your chest and know you've made the right choice. The smile never leaving your face, you now also settle your lips under water, as if to hide your smile, and sink back against the wall to enjoy the following hour or two.

However, after twenty minutes, your fingers have turned pruny and the water has already lost most of its warmth. Shivering at the feeling of anything touching your fingers you pause the film, drain the tub and quickly dry yourself before shooting into your relaxation outfit, grabbing your computer and settling in your bed, propped up against the headboard. You've almost pressed play when you see your phone lighting up rhythmically, signaling that you have a message. Instantly, a thought passes through you, and you hate yourself for thinking it.

_Please don't let it be Finn._

And it's not. It's worse. It's Quinn.

You feel the urge to scream only seeing her name, but you open the text anyway.

**Are you ever going to tell me what you're planning tonight? Qx**

Oh yeah, that's right. You told her not to plan anything, which is _exactly_ the same as saying 'we're doing something!'. And you are. You even paid for it already for fuck's sake! Just your luck. So many emotions shoot through you that you don't know what to do with yourself, so you huff loudly and flail a little before forming your hands into pleading hollows facing upwards and mouth _WHY?_

Then, all the emotion and energy just escapes you with a single breath, and you lay your head down on the headboard, allowing yourself to bask in your self-pity for a moment. Then you pick yourself up again and hit 'Answer' before you give yourself the chance to think about it some more.

**No** you send her. Within a minute you get a response.

**:( I want to know.**

You're unable to suppress your smile and you roll your eyes at yourself before turning your attention back to your phone.

**I wouldn't expect so much if I were you. It's not like I planned anything huge. It's not like I have to woo you or anything.** Is that too much? Too risky? Nah, it'll be fine. Though there may or may not have been a little lie there.

**You do. Woo me.**

**Wooing is for people who date or want to date. We don't. Therefore, I won't woo you.**

**You don't want to date me?**

**Yes**

**Everyone wants to date me** You want to rush over to her house and kiss the daylights out of her because of that answer. She understood what you meant completely. She knew that you were confirming her negative answer, and therefore said 'yes' instead of 'no'. She's grammatically correct, and casual about it and you love it.

**Well, I don't.**

**You sure about that?**

**Positive.**

**But I want you to woo me! Can't people woo for friendship then?**

**Do I still need to woo you for your friendship?**

**Technically, yes. Or have you forgotten about your precious little prize?**

Oh, it's _on._

**I can assure you I have not.**

**So what are you gonna do about it?**

**Allright, I'll woo you. Be ready at 7:30.**

**Where are we going?**

**Not telling.**

**Ahw, boo!**

**Just be ready?**

**Count on it ;)**

Well, that wink was totally uncalled for. Also what were yo thinking accepting to woo her for a photograph? This is getting way too tricky. Too many things can go wrong. You know you should call it off, but the competitive side of you has been awakened, and the dragon in your chest is roaring for victory.

So where were you? Ah, yes. How to woo a girl. Well, first things first. How would _you_ like to be wooed?

A grin appears on your face. You think you have some ideas.

* * *

At seven you bound down the stairs. Your dads are seated at the table, vegan lasagna, your absolute hands down _favorite,_ standing in the middle of it, and they look up at your loud entrance.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat here with us?" your pa asks you. You shake your head.

"Completely," you tell him, "I'll just take two shares and be off, okay?" Without waiting for their answers you rush forward and scoop two pieces of lasagna onto an empty plate. You hurry them to the kitchen where you place them into an isolated box, preserving their temperature. You take an extra plate and cutlery, kiss both your fathers on the cheek in goodbye and are out the door, leaving your dads to exchange curious looks.

As you load in your car, you let your eyes roam over the other objects that are sitting in the back, mentally checking off the list you made, before slamming the door closed again, hopping in the drivers' seat and driving off. When you arrive at the gate, you're completely hyped. You've been listening to the same playlist for when there is a competition or an audition, and you're almost radiating energy. After making sure that the playlist is no longer on, you get out of the car and move to the intercom. You take a deep breath, because if there's something that makes you anxious it's intercoms. But even before you can press the call button, it clicks to life and a familiar voice greets you, and you welcome its warm sound.

"Hey there! I saw you driving up, so I know you're there. So I don't know why you're just standing out there in the cold…" You flare crimson. "Anyway, come on up, the gate is open!"

And indeed it is. When you tentatively press your hand to the iron, it moves with a harsh, metallic sound, and you slip through the opening and make your way to the front door. The nerves hit you like a tidal wave, but you make sure not to let your step falter.

Control yourself. It's not even a date. Well, not a real one, at least. She only asked you to _woo_ her. You almost collapse on the spot. Why on _earth_ did you ever agree to this ridiculer proposal? It's a suicide mission!

But you think back to your plan, and you give yourself a brief pep talk. You've got everything planned out, you can do this. You can woo the girl.

When you ring the doorbell the silence envelops you like the darkness envelops the world as you stand waiting. You shift your weight a couple of times and fidget with the keys in the pocket of your coat. After a moment the door swings open and you freeze up entirely.

She looks absolutely stunning. Her hair is messy, but this perfect kind of messy that makes you want to reach out to touch it and run your hands through it. She's wearing nothing special, a simple sundress with a blazer, something she'd wear to school, but the light in her eyes and smile are so radiant that you're having trouble looking at her. It's really like looking into the sun or waking up when the sun's already shining into your room, and you can't look at her for more than two seconds without having to avert your eyes to rest them.

"Hey," she greets you again, "Is this okay?" Little does she know she could be wearing a snuggie and she'd still look gorgeous, and you would still tell her so.

"You look really pretty, Quinn," you tell her honestly, and you see her beaming smile soften as she looks to the floor. Confidence courses through your veins. Oh yes, you can _definitely_ woo the girl.

"Anyway, do you have a coat, or -"

"Oh, yeah, of course. Let me just get it for a second." She moves away from the door a step, and from inside the house you hear a voice yell "Quinnie, darling, close the door!" after which she smiles and rolls her eyes at you before inviting you in with a move of her head. She closes the door behind you and you peek around the corner into the living room, where her mother is sitting on the couch. You raise a hand in greeting.

"Hi Ms Fabray." She looks up surprised, but you're sure she must've heard the doorbell, so you're confused as to what or who she was expecting. Her brows rise in that distinguishable Fabray fashion and she stands up and walks over to you.

Holding out a hand, she says, "Oh, call me Judy, dear. Ms Fabray makes me feel so old. You are Rachel, am I right?" When you nod pleasantly surprised she smiles a little wider and nods a little absentmindedly. "Yes, yes, Quinnie talks about you a lot, you know?"

You blush, but before she can say something about it, Quinn appears to your side. "Mom," she whines, her bottom lip sticking out in a perfect example of a child being embarrassed by her parents. You want to hug her, kiss her cheek and laugh with her. Judy remains blissfully unaware of your inner explosion of affection.

"What? You do," she says, and you laugh when you see Quinn roll her eyes animatedly.

"All good things, I hope?" you ask.

"Naturally," Judy answers you, and you're sure there is a subtle wink thrown your way.

"Alrighty then," Quinn butts in, "As lovely as I think this talk is, I believe we should get going. Right, Rachel?" Her gaze tells you this is absolutely not up for question.

Suppressing a beaming smile, you nod. "Indeed we should." You turn back to Judy. "It was nice meeting you, Judy."

"As was it meeting you, Rachel. Make sure you drop by sometime, and don't let Quinnie scare you away."

"I most certainly won't." Quinn has opened the door and you shiver a little from the cold gust that enters the house despite your coat. You give Judy a final nod goodbye and walk over to Quinn, who is holding the door open for you in a statement. Behind you, you can hear Judy wish her daughter a good night and a safe drive, followed by Quinn's short "Yes, mom. Bye!"

You wait for her to catch up with you when you hear the door close. When she does, you ignore her for a couple of seconds before abruptly smacking her arm.

"Ow! What was that for?" she whines, rubbing the spot where you hit her, a pout on her lips, but she's smiling, so you know it's all in good fun.

"There was no reason to be so persistent! It was borderline rude! Surely your mother taught you better than that."

"She was being embarrassing!"

"She was being hospitable and nice. You should try it sometime."

She gasps in mock offense. "I am _always_ nice!"

You shoot her a look.

"Okay, not _always_, but most of the time."

You do not waver.

"Okay, okay. I'm a bitch, I get it!" She rolls her yes and makes a show of shoving her hands in her pockets and sulking. You laugh at her.

"Just so we're clear on that." She glares at you.

"I thought you were supposed to woo me."

You smile before opening the passenger's door for her. "Oh, I will." She glared at you and as you wink at her you see her try to suppress a smile, but she fails miserably. When you've walked to the other side of the car and sat down in the drivers' seat, you hear her mumble, "I hate you."

You just smile to yourself as you bring the car back to life.

"I know."

You can feel her stare as you reverse out on the street. "Do you though?"

You catch her eye.

"I'm pretty sure I do."

The air grows thick, pressing on your chest like water does when you've dived a little too deep and you can feel the pressure building on your ears. In a strange way, it's comforting, the pressure all over. You read somewhere that it's because it feels the same way in the womb, and that therefore, all people have this sense of security when they're wrapped tightly in a blanket or hugged by another person. It feels like an embrace, like she holds you without arms, and you feel at peace.

You feel at peace, yet you feel caged, and the feeling of being caged alone is enough to fill you with the need to break free. If you are caged, but are unaware of it, does it still count as confinement? Because with confinement comes freedom, as you can attain freedom once you break free, just like there can be no darkness if there is no light, because darkness is the absence of light, and in the same way, freedom is the absence of confinement and confinement is the absence of freedom. But if you are unaware of the freedom that awaits you, can you still say that you are caged?

With confinement comes the urge to escape, to taste freedom, and you want it. But at the same time, escaping confinement would mean escaping this secure pressure all over that comes with her company, and you are torn. You want to run, escape, but at the same time you want to surrender and hand her your life, convinced that she will cherish it. You ache for her to acknowledge you, to share with her all you have. Your skin crawls with the need to touch her, your heart reaching out, ready to give itself to her, and with it, everything you are.

But you break the spell and drive.

You drive down the street, leaving her house behind you, and turning a corner, also taking it from sight. You feel like you're entering the dead zone, uncharted territory where you are dependent on solely yourself.

She has stopped looking at you, but you still feel the mark on you like a bruise, only not necessarily a painful one, more like a mark, a constant reminder of what was. It will fade with time.

When you dare and glance sideways to look at her, Quinn is sitting with one arm swung across her abdomen, the other leaning on it, with her chin and mouth in her palm, her fingers spread over her cheek along the jawbone. Her eyes are off, hazy, like she's in deep thought. You want to know what goes on in her mind, want to follow her there and explore everything she has to offer you.

You wonder if she'd let you.

She seems to notice you, and your eyes lock again briefly. Her attention remains on you all the way until the next traffic light. When you stop for it, you take a second before looking over at her. She's observing you. Just like she did in the hallway, once, in the beginning stages of your friendship. She is truly watching you with undivided interest, like there is nothing in the world that could ever be as interesting as you. Before, you could look back at her when she did this. Now, you're afraid your eyes will give you away. With a gaze like that, there is nothing she wouldn't see.

The light turns green, and you leave your safe place in the middle of everywhere. Her eyes remain. Your skin blazes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm observing you."

"Why?"

"Because you're fascinating."

"Stop it."

"Why?"

You don't know how to answer that without presenting yourself on a silver platter. You feel the cage again.

"Have you eaten?"

"No. You told me not to."

"Liar."

"Well, you would woo me and said to be ready at 7:30, so frankly, I was expecting dinner."

"Good." You drive up the parking lot of the hospital. Quinn seems to have noticed this as well, because she straightens up and looks at you with a questioning gaze.

"Why are we at the hospital?"

"You'll see."

You park the car somewhere close to the entrance and turn off the engine. Quinn is still looking around bewildered when you exit the car and walk to the back to open the door. You lift the box you took from home out of the trunk and walk back to open the door for Quinn, who is still sitting in the car.

"Come on, it's definitely not what you think it is." Hesitantly she gets out. You lock the car and walk ahead to the entrance. "Come on!" you encourage her.

You enter through the automatic doors and make your way straight to the elevators. Suddenly excited you rock on your heels while you wait for the elevator to come down and pick you up. Next to you, you notice Quinn is still restless. Taking the box under one arm, you become brave and reach out. You rest your hand on her lower arm to get her attention. When her anxious eyes meet yours you smile.

"Don't worry. You're safe."

She moves her arm, and disappointment floods you as she breaks the contact. But your hand, still hovering in midair, is quickly snatched out of the air as you feel her hand covers yours. Before you get the chance to do anything else but stare in shock, she's pulled you down and stowed your joined hands in the pocket of her coat.

You have stopped breathing entirely, and it's taking everything to just stay standing.

"I'm sorry," she begins, "I just-"

"No, no, it's okay," you interrupt her, "I get that hospitals make you uncomfortable, I do. It's okay." She smiles at you shyly but squeezes you hand in thanks. You leave it be. If it's making her feel more comfortable, so be it. You're here to be her friend, not to lust after her. She comes first, you come second, that was the deal from the beginning. You'll be there for her whenever, wherever and however she needs you, because she deserves a friend, a true friend. You squeeze her back.

The elevator pings and the doors slide open. Two people inside, a nurse and who you guess is a visitor, walk out, not even glancing at you once. You feel relieved. When you glance over at Quinn, you see that she feels the same, because her eyes remain on the people that just walked out and follow them until it becomes hard to without breaking her neck. Then she notices you look at her. You raise an eyebrow in question, but she just huffs and walks into the elevator, pulling you with her because she's still holding onto your hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Up." You manage to press the button of the top floor with your elbow and ignore Quinn's puzzled look.

"Why?"

You lull your head on one shoulder and eye her with a look that is purely meant for riling her up, because you can practically _feel_ how much she hates it when she doesn't get what she wants. And there's no way you've giving her the answers she is so desperately searching for right now. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

If looks could kill, you'd probably be writhing on the floor of the elevator in agony right now, dying a very slow, excruciatingly painful death. But they can't, so you just grin at her while she glares at you.

The elevator dings before it comes to a halt ungraciously, making the both of you look up at the floor number on display. Not there yet. The doors slide open, and a man in a long white coat steps in. A doctor, a specialist. He looks at the two of you, and you notice his eyes drop to Quinn's left pocket, where your joined hands are resting. Quinn tenses up, and without thinking you start drawing lazy circles on the back of her hand with your thumb. The specialist steps into the elevator and looks at the floor you selected. Apparently he's supposed to be there as well, because he just turns around and faces the closing doors.

Quinn is still tense. You're still trying to calm her. But she keeps staring hard at his back, eyes anxious. You wish there was something you knew would calm her for sure, because you can't stand to see her like this. You have a small inner debate for a moment before you decide to take a leap of faith and weave your fingers through the openings between hers. Her hand flexes briefly, and you're afraid she'll pull away, so you hold her a little tighter. You watch her from the corner of your eye as you wait for the tension to subside, but when the elevator comes to a stop again, she's still on edge.

"Do you want me to let go?" you ask her quietly when the doctor leaves the elevator, the two of you lingering for a moment. Quinn steps forward before the doors can close again.

"No."

You hold on. Outside the elevator you steer her right, and another right, making some sort of u-turn. You lead her into the staircase and remove your hand from hers. She looks at you curiously.

"Did it matter what my answer was at all?" she asks you.

"Of course it did," you tell her, "I just need both my hands for a moment." At the top of the stairs in a door, one with a bar that you need to push down if you want to open it. On the other side is the roof.

The hospital building is one of the taller buildings in Lima, enabling you to see over all the rooftops of the buildings below. The sun has fully set, and the only light up here is coming from the life below and the stars above, though the stars are hardly visible due to dense clouds. You frown at them and follow them to the horizon, where they come from.

"There's a storm coming," you hear Quinn say. Apparently she was also looking at the sky.

"You sound like you're looking forward to it."

She grins cheekily and looks at you. "I'm adaptable."

* * *

**A/N: Holy moly you guys, I'm so sorry. I know, I know, I'm a day late and I apologise. This just won't flow.**

**A slightly shorter chapter. I was hoping to fit this entire thing into one chapter, but it's not working out. I'm sorry. Christ, I'm repetitive today... anyway. Let's call it a day. So, yes. This is an _Intermission_ because it really doesn't belong anywhere else. It's something in between...**

**If you guys would be so kind as to tell me how you thought it was, that'd be great! Even though it's an intermission... **

**(I'm feeling guilty, did you notice?)**

**2) YOU GUISE! I GAVE IT A TITLE! ;D Not that it really matters tough,, I mean, it's still this little something in between, but you people seemed to really like this one, so I decided it deserved a title. Thus; Charms.**

**Have a good one! ^^**


	14. Start

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! I was seriously blown away by the amount of them! Much appreciated! Truly!**

**Oh, and I chose this chapter title because 'Start' both means a beginning and something of a shock, which I found fitting. ;]**

* * *

As you lift the lasagna, plates and cutlery out of the box, Quinn walks along the edge of the roof, looking over the life below. It's quiet up here, the constant noise of card driving past nullifying itself over time, only screeching tires, sirens and a horn breaking the silence every now and then. You watch her peer over the edge, hands shoved deep in her pockets, shoulders hunched up slightly. You get to look at her for a few seconds before she notices your gaze and catches it. You use the opportunity to call her over.

"Come on, I brought food." She comes jogging over in a lazy pace. Hands still in her pockets, she sits down next to you and regards the plates.

"I was beginning to wonder what was in that box," she tells you.

"Not whether I had brought any food at all?"

"No," she shrugs, "I actually was expecting some place _inside_."

"You wanted a restaurant."

"I was _expecting_ a restaurant."

"What is the difference?"

"That this is simply not what I was expecting, but not necessarily worse." You can't help but smile at that.

"So you don't think this is terrible?"

"I never said that." You shove her shoulder. She laughs at you.

"No, don't let me hurt your feelings, it's pretty cool out here. I didn't even know you could get up here. How _did _you know you could get up here?"

"My father works here."

"Which one?"

"Papa. Hiram," you tell her. She hums in understanding before taking the first bite of her lasagna. You watch as her eyes widen in surprise and a fitting sound escapes her.

"It's warm!"

"Of course it is," you tell her, disappointed in the cause of her excitement, "What else would this gigantic box be good for?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I didn't know it contained food. Which, by the way, is delicious." Ah, there it is. That's what you were waiting (hoping) for.

"Why, thank you. I'm sure my fathers will be pleased to hear it."

"Hmm," she agrees, humming because her mouth is full. She makes a face as she swallows the food down before answering you. "Do tell them. This is amazing. I didn't -"

You hold up your hand. "Please don't finish that sentence. Don't put yourself in the same category as Finn." Her face contorts at this.

"Ooh, no thank you very much. Thanks for the warning," she tells you, placing her hand over her heart, "But all jokes aside, for something I know is vegan, it's a lot better than I ever dreamed it would be."

"Why are all of you people so afraid of vegan food?" you question, throwing your hands up.

"Rachel," Quinn starts slowly, "Have you ever tasted that ice cream substitute you tried to feed us?"

"Well, yes, of c-"

"It's disgusting." She levels you with a gaze that leaves no room for questioning. Like this is the truth, the only truth and nothing but the truth.

"Oh. Well." There's not much more you can say to that, so you poke at your food a little with your fork.

"This, on the other hand," Quinn pipes up again, "Is truly delicious." She searches for your eyes in order to convey the truth behind her words, and you feel yourself flush at their sincerity. You look away from her and focus on your food again in the hopes that she didn't notice it, but alas, she did. The sound of her laughter fills the night sky, and you feel the dragon in your chest stir. But she choses not to comment on it, and you thank her silently.

You finish before she does, and after you've put the plate back in the box, you ponder watching her while you wait, but you decide against it. Even for you, that's a little obnoxious, not to mention creepy and uncomfortable. So you stand up and walk over to the ego of the building. The wind here is harsher, and therefore you immediately feel colder. You shove your hands in your pockets and watch the cars below drive by.

For a moment you realise that every one of those cars have people driving in them, and that all of those people have lives of their own. They have a home to go home you, a job to tend to in the morning, a destination they're driving to, thoughts of their own, just like you do. All those people have a story just like yours. Well, not exactly like yours, but a story that is completely their own. A life of their own. And that makes you feel insignificant. But at the same time, you feel one with all those people below, and therefore part of the world, and therefore large, because the world is part of the universe, and so are you.

Without a sound, Quinn appears next to you, standing in a similar position. Shoulder to shoulder you watch over the world below, over the sea of light that comes with civilization.

"Don't you ever think it's strange that of all species in the world, we are the only one that resides truly everywhere?"

You turn to look at her, but she doesn't return your gaze. She remains standing on your right, eyes fixed on something you don't know. The light coming from below hits her with an angle you haven't seen before, highlighting her cheekbones and brows. It lightens up her eyes so curiously, like they're a deep golden, almost orange, but too pale.

You switch your gaze back to the city below you.

"No," you tell her honestly, "I've never thought of that before."

"Because it seems so natural?"

"I don't know. But I suppose so, yes. We don't know any better than to have humans live everywhere on this planet, that we cannot phantom the idea not to. Yet, once you really think about it, we're the only species that have managed to travel to every single continent without adapting so much that we can no longer be called the same species."

"Do you think that makes us superior?"

You ponder this for a moment.

"No."

From your peripheral vision you can see her smile.

"Do you?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because birds do this as well. Only birds choose to reside at one place for the winter, another for the summer. They could stay if they wanted. They could survive. But they don't. This instinct to return home when the season hits is the only thing that keeps them from living everywhere as well. They would still be able to fly back and maintain contact with the rest of their species on the other continents, and thereby avoid becoming so different they could no longer produce fertile spawn. They are able to live the same way we do, but they choose not to, and therefore, I do not think we are superior."

Your eyes never left her while she spoke. She had talked with such calmth, such logic and conviction that it had been too beautiful a sight to take your eyes off of, even if just for a moment. Your insides are swirling, an invisible hand reaching out of your chest to touch her, to hold her. To pull her close and kiss her temple, to tell her that she is amazing.

But her eyes find yours and you feel caught. You feel like you were interrupting something private, and got caught redhanded. You look away and check the time. Eight thirty.

"We should get going."

"What, there's more?" She's grinning sideways, not unlike the way Finn uses to do. Except she doesn't look clueless doing it. Instead, she looks confident, cunning and, if you're boing honest with yourself, downright irresistible. Yet you resist.

"Of course there is," you tell her, "You didn't think I would attempt to woo you with nothing but dinner on a rooftop, did you?"

She shrugs. "Well, the gesture was romantic enough," she wiggles her eyebrows at you and your insides turn to jelly, "And Finn would probably have left it at that."

He probably would. Just like he did with you. He took you to a romantic dinner and decided that was enough for one evening. Let's just pretend for a moment that there was no awkward ending to your make-out session. It's not like that was the main reason for your evening being cut short. He wouldn't have taken you anywhere, you're sure of that.

Anyway, you were going. Right.

You turn to pick up the box that's still sitting on the roof, seemingly oblivious to Quinn's frown when you don't answer her. You're not oblivious though. You could never be oblivious to anything she does when she's in a fourty feet radius from you. She follows you silently inside. When you reach the elevator, she is ahead of you and presses the button before you can reach for it, the box in your ams having slowed you down. This time, she's the one rocking on her heels. You roll your eyes and smile to yourself at her childlike behaviour. She notices it and smiles at it.

Faux subtle she leans to the side a bit and whispers, "If I were still anxious, would you hold my hand again?"

One day, she'll kill you. You're certain of it.

"I would if you asked me to."

"Only if I asked you to?"

"Yes."

The mischievous smile on her face is unmistakable. "Will you?"

"No."

She pouts. "Why not?"

"Because you're not anxious."

Her mouth drops open in mock offense, but she smiles shortly after and follows you inside the elevator that has reached you and opened by now.

"Touche, Berry. Touche."

"Thank you."

Silence falls for a moment. Then, a whisper fills the air and you can't suppress a smile.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Not telling."

"Why not? I mean, we're going there now. We'll be there in a couple of minutes, you can just as well tell me."

"Well, then you can just as well wait those couple more minutes."

Her pout is spectacular and she sulks all the way to the car. Even when inside the car, she slumps in her seat, pulls up her shoulders and faces away from you.

"You're acting like a child, you know that?"

No response. You lean closer.

"I'll hold your hand."

The huff of breath sells her out, and you lean back in your seat satisfied as she is now openly smiling and lightly shaking her head.

"You're unbelievable."

You smile to yourself. "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"I'll keep you to it though. Just so you know."

You gasp playfully as you move the car back on the road. "What is it with you and holding my hand?"

"It's tiny, it's amazing how you can have such tiny little hands."

You blindly smack her and hear the muffled 'ow' following the blow.

"Oh, don't be a baby, you're wearing a coat. That didn't hurt."

"Did too!"

"Oh, it didn't and you know it."

"Nah, it didn't. I barely felt it." You can hear the cocky grin in her voice.

Smack.

"Ow, that one did hurt. Try to avoid the face next time, will you?"

"You deserved it."

"Maybe, maybe not. Just remember payback's a bitch."

"There will be no payback."

"Says you."

"Yes, says I, and who is the one paying for your evening and driving you around?" The reply doesn't come. "Exactly, that's me as well. And you know I don't do things half baked. So, I will repeat: there will be no payback."

You hear a grumble next to you.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of me being right."

"Okay, okay, no payback."

"That's what I thought. Now, please sit up straight and wipe that scowl off your face? I know you're enjoying this." From the corner of your eye you can see her smile. "Thank you, now get ready, we're almost there."

You turn the corner and into a small alley. Well, it's not really an alley, but it's not really a street either. There are two more cars parked, and you maneuver yours next to them. Ahead are double doors, one open, dim light shining through it onto the pavement. You turn off the engine and undo your seatbelt. Next to you, Quinn does the same.

"Um, Rachel, where are we?" she asks you timidly, but you shush her as you lock the doors of your car. "Seriously, Rachel, what is it with you and places that make my skin crawl?" You roll your eyes at her smiling and motion for her to follow you.

Inside is a man sitting behind a register, a wall of glass between you. He looks up when you enter.

"Hi, two tickets, on Berry." The guy types something into a computer and nods.

"Ah, right. You have ten minutes left. Theater two. You'll find it at the end of the hall on your right hand. Have a pleasant evening."

"Thank you," you chirp and leave walking down the hallway, Quinn following a couple of seconds behind, so she has to jog a few steps to catch up with you.

When you reach the end, there is a door with a large yellow 2 on it. You push it open to reveal a small theater, maybe fifty seats, completely empty. As you move to the seats and down the rows, Quinn stops dead in her tracks. You can practically hear the wheels turning in her head before she finds her voice again.

"Wait. Is this-?"

You smile and turn to face her.

"Les Int? Yes." A smile breaks through her features.

"Because I said we should watch it sometime but we didn't own it?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember everything I say to you?"

"Well, contradictory to what you may believe, I actually _do_ listen to what people say to me, instead of just pretend to listen like most of you do. The fact that I hardly do anything with what people tell me is because has got more to do with the fact that I find their suggestions inaccurate or simply -"

"Thank you." She cuts you off, and for once, you don't feel the urge to hit a person when they cut you off, because _no-one_ cuts off Rachel Berry. Unless they are Quinn Fabray speaking to you in barely anything more than a whisper, managing to show you more emotion than screaming could ever have dreamt of achieving.

You both stand motionless in the dark theater, eyes locked on each other, the silence thick. You would have expected a shiver of desire to run down your spine, but it doesn't. Instead, a gentle warmth spreads through you, numbing you from your core to the tips of your fingers. It's a pleasant kind of numbing though, like when your hands have grown so cold they're painful and numb, and then start defrosting again. That kind of warmth. You still want to reach out to her, to have empiric evidence that this is real, that she is actually here, willing to sit through a movie with you.

The lights in the room dim even further, and the both of you startle and look around bewildered before you realise what is happening and plop down in the best seats in the room, because there's no-one else there to want the seats.

"How is it this place is still running? There is nobody here."

"Every once in a while, they hold some kind of cultural festival of some sorts. That's when loads of people come here, and they live the rest of the year of the money they make then. It's not really a place people decide to come when they feel like watching a movie, but I like it here. It's not so commercial, and it's peaceful."

You hear her hum next to you, but before she can say anything, the beamer is turned on and light fills the screen. The red logo of Gaumont fills the screen, while everything falls completely silent. Then, a few soft notes of a piano break the silence, and you instantly recognize the melody. It's Fly. You move to tell Quinn, but obviously she knows, and shushed you with a single touch on your forearm.

Childlike excitement floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by the peaceful feeling that Ludovico's music always seems to bring you. The film truly begins, and you're instantly intrigued by the opening scene, where the main characters are pulled over for speeding, after which the driver tells the passenger "200 they're gonna escort us". And they do. They get an escort.

It's a French film, and literally everything about it shows it proudly. The plot twist in the beginning was something you'd never have seen coming, and you love it. You're immediately interested and the film does not disappoint. It turns out to be a perfect combination of humour and tragedy, and you become so invested with the characters and the lives this film gives them that you have this empty feeling when it ends. It's a feeling that asks you 'and now what?'. Because they managed to make you feel like you were living in the film, and then the film ended.

You both sit through the end credits in silence. Only when the lights fully turn on again do you realize they expect you to get up at some point, and you run a hand over your face in an attempt to wake yourself up. Next to you, Quinn is running her hand through her hair, her eyes closed and eyebrows raised in that typical 'I'm tired and trying to wake up' fashion. You think she looks adorable.

Neither of you said a word during the film, and now, you're left staring at each other like you only just remembered you weren't alone. This is untrue. At several points through the movie you wanted to reach over and find physical contact, in whatever way possible. You just wanted to touch her, to share the moment with her.

In the end, it had been Quinn who shifted. She had swung her legs over each other, turning a little in her seat. Her knees had ended up turning away from you, and you had felt disappointed. That was before her upper body had tilted _toward_ you, resting her shoulder against yours, and from there, her upper ran until the elbow. It had been a casual touch, had it not been for the fact that she lingered there. For the remainder of the time she had sat leaning to the left, your upper arms resting warmly against each other.

She hadn't seemed to mind, maybe this was what generally happens when two friends watch a movie together. Maybe it isn't at all that weird to search for a connection with the other.

You had kept quiet, both reveling in and dying from the touch. The first five minutes it had set you on edge, because you had not been expecting it, and you didn't know what to do with it nor with yourself. You didn't know if she was expecting some kind of acknowledgement, for you to lean back or shift. In the end, you just stayed where you are. You didn't react to her, and after a few minutes you felt yourself relax into the touch. It had turned comforting, knowing that people searched for _your _comfort in that moment.

But now that moment was gone, and you find yourself unable to look at her, because when you do, you think of what could have happened, what you could have done. You could have leant into her, you could have lay your head to hers, you could have taken her hand. But you didn't.

You didn't do anything, and you feel betrayed by your own cowardice.

So instead of looking at her, you rise from the chair and turn to pick up your coat. You hear her do the same. The both of you walk out of the rows of chairs sideways, because they are too narrow to walk through normally. She exits first and holds the door open for you. You briefly dare to make eye-contact and nod in thanks. When you pass the lad behind the counter, you wish him a good night. He echoes back.

Before you move into the car, Quinn calls to you over the hood of the car.

"So, what did you think of it?" You can't help but smile at her attempt for conversation.

"I thought is was good," you tell her as you plop down in your seat. You feel her eye you, and when you look over she is watching you with this gaze that oozes _'are you kidding me?'_

"What?"

"You thought it was good?" she echoes you, "That's it? That's all you can say about one of the best films I have seen in my life?"

"You know you just prompted me into a full-blown Rachel Berry speech about everything I thought about it, right?"

She nods. "I didn't expect anything less. Now lay it on me."

"Well, first of all, I thought the music was absolutely stunning. It was simple, but effective, and I actually believe that the simplicity of it all worked in its favor. I was also pleasantly surprised by the way we were shown insight in the lives of the main characters themselves. They were not just two human beings or characters on a screen, they were people, and you could relate to them, making the film feel more _real_. I could _feel_ this could happen in real life, and yes, I know that it was based on a true story, but that information alone does not necessarily make a film believable. This one was believable, very much so in fact, and I think that's something the directors did brilliantly. I loved the way how they grew into this curious friendship without even noticing. I can't pinpoint when it happened either, it flowed over so fluently that I don't even think I would be able to find the turning point if I tried. I thought it brilliantly showed how sometimes we need someone else to make us _live_, and not just be alive, because that's what Phillipe needed. He was alive, but he wasn't truly living, and Driss gave that to him. I admit, not always in a way to be desired, I really thought the habit to start smoking and speeding just for fun was something they could easily have omitted or changed into something else, but at least he was reminded of how beautiful life can be and that it would be a shame to do nothing with it. They completed each other, in a way that most people don't find in this life, and I think that is a beautiful concept."

Quinn stares at you in silence, her gaze soft yet intense, and you don't know what to do with it. You notice how she slowly seems to let go of the air in her lungs. She keeps them empty for a few moments, her eyes never leaving you. It's unnerving, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, lingering in your tailbone.

"What?" you ask her, "You wanted more, so I gave you more. Stop looking at me like that."

A curious little smile makes its way onto her face. "Like what?"

You shrug, "I don't know. You tell me. What is this look you're giving me?"

"This?" She points at herself, smile growing larger. "This is me not knowing how to react because I can feel myself swooning over a film description." You can't help but snort at this.

"You're swooning over my film description," you say, it's just as much of a question as it is a statement. When Quinn nods yes and shrugs with it a little, a huffing laugh makes its way up your windpipe and you facepalm.

"What?" You hear her ask next to you.

"I just can't believe this," you huff, "I fail at pretty much everything I do, I'm constantly on edge because you unnerve me -"

"I unnerve you?" God, you can hear the smile in her voice.

"Of course you do," you lift your face from your hand and lock on her, conveying all your seriousness, "You're Quinn Fabray. I don't know who to be around you, yet you constantly make me want to prove myself to you. But I don't know _how_."

"Then stop trying."

"What?"

"Stop trying to be anyone. Just be you, that shouldn't be so hard, right?"

"But what if you start disliking me again?" She cracks a smile.

"Nah, I think you'll be fine. Now, do you plan on driving me home or are we just going to keep sitting in a car in this strange little alley?"

Rolling your eyes you ignite the ignition and the engine instantly roars back to life.

"Thank you."

"You know," you tell her while you drive off again, "You don't necessarily have to be this sassy all the time, you know?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Have you _seen_ the reaction you just gave me? It's priceless."

"You know, I had this final little thing planned for you, but if you're going to act like this, I might ju-"

"No! No, no, okay, I'll shut up. I'm sorry." She sags back in her seat and stays quiet for a second or two before asking, "What is it?" You feel the need to facepalm again.

"I'm not telling you, it'd take away the element of surprise."

"You don't need the element of surprise."

"Yes I do,"

"If it's good enough, the element of surprise is completely unnecessary."

"No, not in this case."

"Then it's not so good. Whatever it's supposed to be."

"Oh, trust me, it'll blow your mind."

"Then why would you even risk me going on and not being able to blow my mind?"

"Because then only you would be the one that didn't get anything from it. I could always blow your mind some other time."

"You could lose _the_ opportunity to woo me."

"Aren't you wooed yet?"

"Not since you told me there's something else."

"So this is the final test?"

"You can look at it that way, yes."

"Well then, I think I'll be fine."

The both of you sit in silence until the end of the drive. When you pull over in front of her gate, silence envelops you.

"Will there be study group tomorrow?"

"Nah, I think I'll cancel it. I don't really feel like studying. Plus," she points outside to the clouded over sky, "There's a storm coming." The smile she gives you is childlike and jubilant and you find yourself mashing your lips together hard to suppress a gigawatt smile.

"And you," you poke her in her upper arm, "Should be going."

"You're not going to walk me to my door?"

"No."

"But you had this thing?"

"That's exactly why I'm not coming with you. Now off you go." You make a shooing motion with your hands. She squints her eyes at you mendaciously but eventually gets out of the car. She turns back before she moved through the gate, waving at you. You wave back and before she can get all the way through the gate, you roll the window down and yell after her, "Good night! And don't do anything rash tonight! It's late!"

When she frowns at you not understanding, you just wave again before pulling up and driving off again. You force yourself not to think about what she might do when she finds the gardenia poised out by her front door. You placed it there when you picked her up, but out of sight, so that you can only see it when you walk _up_ to the house, and now away from it.

You've deliberately switched off your mobile, because you're sure there will be a call or several text, but you really just want her to sleep over it a night.

You hope she sleeps tonight. You wouldn't want to be responsible for her lack of sleep.

When you get home, your fathers are sitting on the couch in the living room, watching tv. You don't recognise the show they're watching, but then again, you never watch tv, you prefer the laptop and the wonders the internet provides you with.

"Hi honey," your dad calls, "How was your evening?"

"It was good," you tell them, but you don't feel like going into it that much. Before you walk up the stairs, you remember, and call, "Oh, and if there is an unknown number calling, don't pick up!" You can practically see your fathers looking at each other with shocked expressions and you smile to yourself as you make your way to your room.

* * *

The following morning you have practically forgotten about what you left behind last night. You remember taking Quinn to the roof of Lima's hospital and taking her to Les Intouchables and your surprise attack, but the fact that it was all real somehow has trouble getting through to you. You know it happened, but you don't feel it.

It's half past eight and you're working out on your elliptical. You're keeping a good pace, because you got a good night's sleep yesterday. You went to bed immediately after you came home, and since it was late, but not _that_ late, you are now fully rested. Movie soundtracks are playing away in your ears. They generally have really strong beats, as long as they're soundtracks to powerful movies, like The Lord Of The Rings series or Inception, an therefore being comfortable songs to run or just generally work out to.

Outside, a storm is raging. Quinn hadn't been mistaken when she had said so yesterday. There is no thunder, but that doesn't make the weather any less intimidating. The sky is still dark, giving you the feeling that the sun hasn't properly risen yet and aggressive rain and powerful gusts of wind are tormenting the house. You like that phrase, aggressive rain, it's oddly accurate for the type of rain. There is rain that drizzles, that somas down in curtains that soak you to the bone while making this constant white noise, but there is also rain that comes in gusts, with large drops that sound painfully on the roof. It sounds like its sole purpose is to break your house down, and when you think of it that way, it's a pitiful rain, because it will never succeed.

The music in your ears is loud, so you cancel out the noise of the rain falling, except for those few seconds in between numbers. Those are the moments you take your eyes off the wall that is dedicated to your dreams and shift them to the window to see how mother nature's mood is. It's still very foul. You think it may last all day. You sigh a little and take your eyes off the window again, letting then drift back to the wall. Only this time, they fall on something in your room that wasn't there before.

Quinn is standing in your door opening, completely soaked, in a running outfit.

"Quinn," you breathe out, still not really over the shock of her standing in your room so suddenly. You didn't even know she knew where you lived. Your eyes drift to the flower in her hand and you open your mouth to say something, but she holds up her hand while closing her eyes and setting her jaw, and you know that it's best not to say anything right now.

You watch as the takes a couple of deep breaths before opening her eyes again and leveling you with a gaze so intense and dark that you literally feel yourself shrinking. You feel your back hunch over and your head pull itself back between your shoulders. There is an aggressive swirling in your stomach wanting to comfort her, to tell her you're sorry, that it was the wrong thing to do, anything to get back the Quinn from yesterday, but you know she would push you away. Then she speaks, her voice strained.

"Did you -" You see a few droplets of water fall from the short strands of hair. "The corsage?" Your eyes slip closed at the disbelieving and hurt quality of her voice, and guilt tosses you into a dark abyss. But you can't lie anymore. She's found it, and she knows what it means. The only reason she's here is because she needs you to confirm that it is real. And so you nod.

As you do so, you hear her sharp and strained exhale and the smallest of whimpers escape her. You daren't look up at her. Then there is the fluttering of paper and the sound of footsteps moving away from you. A door slams closed. The picture falls into your line of sight.

Like a tap on your shoulder you shake from your paralyzed state and rush downstairs. Without thinking you're out the door, forgetting your coat and keys, only wearing shoes because you already wearing them for your work out. You don't think, you just run purely on instinct. You know she came running because of her outfit, so you rush past the car and come to a stop on the middle of the road, checking both sides, not caring about cars being able to hit you, not caring about the harsh rain that hits you painfully hard. A flash of red catches your attention, and you're off without giving yourself time to think this over again.

She is standing on the field across the street, unmoving. As you come closer, you see that she has her eyes closed, her head dropped, arms hanging limply by her side. Something about it unnerves you, and you slow down when you come within five meters of her. You carefully walk the remaining distance, as if there are mines buried everywhere and one misstep could blow the both of you up. You suppose that, figuratively speaking, that is actually the case here. The earth beneath your feet is mushy from the rain, and sounds like it. You reach out to put a hand on her shoulder.

"Why did you do it?" Your hand twitches at the sound of her voice, but you reach no further. Instead, your hand is now hovering in the empty space between you, just like her words.

"Because I could. Finn didn't know what to do, and I did, so I helped. I just- I wanted you to at least have that."

She whips around and faces you, her jaw set, her eyes pleading.

"Why is it," she asks, "That the _only_ thing that was good about that prom comes from you? Why you? Why are you _everywhere all the time?_ Why do you even care?"

You shrug helplessly. "I don't know," you tell her, "I just do." Despite your guilt mercilessly coursing through your veins, you still feel a pang of affection when she says that you were responsible for the only good thing that evening. But then again, you probably also were the cause of everything that made her night miserable.

"I just-" she begins, but she looks like she has no idea how she's going to end that sentence, restlessly looking around, never really focusing on anything to look at. "I just don't know what to feel anymore." You look at her in silence.

"I want to be angry with you because you seem to leave your mark _everywhere_, but I don't know whether I want you to stop leaving your mark everywhere, because I've grown to like you. And I want to feel happy that you got the corsage and not Finn, but I feel like you lied to me by doing so and that hurts me. And I hate that you can hurt me like this, because I never wanted you to and I never expected that you would be able to do so either, and I just don't _know_ anymore Rachel." God, she looks absolutely devastated.

You want to say something, you want to touch her, to hug her, to tell her it's okay, but you want to lift the mood, and you don't feel trying any of those things will accomplish that.

"So you decided it was a great idea to go running in a storm, now?"

A small twitch at the corners of her mouth. Success. Even though her expression instantly returns to one of hurt and confusion. She'll get there. You'll get her there.

"I like being out in storms, it calms me down." You laugh a little at that.

"Come on," you say, "Let's go home." You place your hand on her upper arm in encouragement, and wait for her to move before doing so yourself. When she passes you, you move to lift your hand, but she covers it with hers and gives it a little squeeze.

"Thank you."

You smile at her and she releases your hand, enabling you to remove it from her arm. Together you walk back to your front porch. It reminds you of that time she took you to the park.

When you get inside, you notice you're both shivering from the rain. You look at each other and laugh a little.

"Do you want your hot cocoa now or after you've showered?"

She frowns at that. "I didn't know I was showering here."

"Of course you are. Have you seen yourself? And before you turn all smart on me, you've ran here and then decided to go stand in a storm, and I only followed you out to get you back in, so you're worse than I am. Ergo, you need a shower." She inclines her head in admission.

"In that case, after."

You smile. "Okay then."

After you've taken off your shoes you lead her upstairs and send her into your bathroom so she can drip on the tiles instead on your floor. Cleans easier. While she watches you, you miraculously find two other sweatpants, one of which is your father's. Your daddy has trouble remembering which sweats are yours and which are your papa's, and in this case, you're glad for it. You throw her your papa's sweats and an oversized hoodie. You kind of collect those for occasions like these. Not that you lend them to people often, but stormy days in which you stay in all day to watch movies and drink hot chocolate. Which is exactly what you will be doing.

Quinn catches them both graciously and dumps them on the chair. You smile at the familiar gesture, only this time it's coming from someone else. It's like you're watching yourself in third person, only different, because you are fully aware of the face that you're not watching yourself. You can't really explain it.

"I'll be taking my father's bathroom, okay?" She nods and shrugs, and you don't really know why you decided to tell her that, it was useless information. When you turn your back to her to get to your laptop you roll your eyes at yourself.

"Why are you getting the laptop?"

"I'm going to watch a film."

"Which one?" To tell the truth or not to tell the truth. That's the question. You never did finish the first Harry Potter, because you needed the rest of the day to prepare for the evening, so you were going to continue where you left off.

"The first Harry Potter?"

"No, you're not."

"What? Why?"

"Because we're gonna have a marathon. Let me call my mother. Can I use your phone for a minute?" But before you can answer her, she's already crossed your room to your nightstand and is dialing a number.

"Oy," you yell, "Get back in the bathroom! You're ruining my floor!" She bounces back, phone still at her ear. She grins at you from the door opening and sticks out her tongue while she waits for someone to answer her call. It proves difficult not to flush, but you manage it anyway. Instead, you roll your eyes at her before picking up your own sweats and pointing over your shoulder to the hallway. She follows your train of thought and nods, while you see her posture change. She looks away from you and stands up straighter than before. Apparently her mother has picked up the phone.

After Quinn has greeted her, she is interrupted, and you watch as she winces at whatever her mother is yelling at her. You can't make out _what_ she's saying, but you can hear her from your position over here. Quinn sputters some excuses and the raging voice on the other end seems to calm down. You catch her eye and she widens hers, silently communicating her 'what the hell'. You smile at her and point behind you again. She nods and shoos you away with her hand, smiling as well, before returning to the conversation with her mother.

You quickly skip across the hallway. This is surreal. You are going to have a Harry Potter marathon with Quinn Fabray, who is, not to forget, currently having shower in your bathroom.

This is surreal. It deserved to be said twice.

* * *

**A/N: Huzzah, I'm back again! And this time I was deliberately late. I already lengthened the time between updates, and I'm afraid I'll do it again. Two weeks. I'm sorry, I truly am, but school and work are hectic and I just can't find the time. Perhaps when things are running smoothly again, I'll cut it down, but give me time to catch up with my mind, because I know where I'm going, I just need to get there.**

**Oh, by the way, please tell me what you think about the little 'thought experiments' in between. I'm playing around with things like these, so please, help me improve ^^ Do you think they add to the story/character in any way? Your opinion is most appreciated. ^^**

**ALSO MARRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL IN ADVANCE! OuO**


	15. Redemption

**A/N Welcome (back) you guys! It's been a while! I'm sorry if it took longer than you would have liked,, writer's block is still in full effect, and this chapter just wouldn't flow. Anyway, before you all start leaving because you think nothing is happening, let me tell you that it will probably take up to three more chapters for things to get intense.**

**I'll try my very best to hurry it up, because it's plaguing me as well. Sadly enough, another week of finals is coming up in three weeks. I'll try to update before then, but it will at least be a week after it's finished until you can expect another update. I'll work on it though! **

* * *

When you exit the bathroom, towel on your head, and walk into your room again, you're met by the sight of Quinn laid out on your bed. She's lying on her back, one arm dangling off the bed, the other lightly bent at the knee. Her hands are folded on her stomach and her chest rises and falls evenly, like she's asleep. You smile at the sight and remain standing in the door opening. It seems wrong to say anything and so you stay silent.

Your eyes fall on the piece of paper on the floor. The photograph. Your chest constricts at the sight. Not necessarily painful, but the kind of affection and longing and pride that appears so intensely it feels like it hurts, but in reality, it's just overwhelming. Letting your eyes flit back the the still figure on your bed you step into the room as quietly as you can manage, which is pretty silent, seeing as you're barefoot and your floor is carpeted.

Carefully you crouch down next to the photo, picking it up like it's sacred. You think it might me. To you, at least. You hold it between your fore- and middle finger for a moment before flipping it around.

Bright hazel meets you, sparkling in the sun that shone that day. The grass is bright green, accentuating the emerald in her irises. It turned out absolutely gorgeous, capturing her as she is, the way most people don't get to see her. Yet you did. You see her like this. You even managed to capture it. And now the proof is yours. Finally.

Pride swells up in your chest, it swirls in your abdomen and you have to in- and exhale very deep and slowly to keep yourself from crying. The emotion is just so intense you can feel the burning behind your eyes, the pressure on your chest fighting to be set free and your eyes close by themselves.

You allow yourself to trace a finger along the outline of the picture, the smooth surface sliding under your fingertip. When you stand up you make your way to the drawer next to your desk, and you place the photograph upright, leaning on the lamp that stands on it. After making sure that it remains standing you take a step back and look at the end result, content. Casting another glance at the still figure on your bed you smile and maneuver yourself out of the room again without disturbing her. The house is empty as you walk down the stairs. When you take a look at the clock in the living room you see it's 9 am; your fathers have both already left for work. You find yourself relieved.

Maybe ten minutes later you're making your way upstairs again, two steaming cups of hot cocoa in hand. Entering the room you see that she hasn't moved a finger and you smile to yourself. A giddy feeling bubbles to live in your upper abdomen, in the hollow of your ribcage, and you set the to cups down on your desk before moving over to the bed. You squat down next to it so that you're almost on eye-level with the motionless cheerleader. You rest your hands on the mattress, elbows hanging close together in front of your chest.

"Quinn," you whisper, and she stirs a little. You see the muscles in her arms flex before you hear her grunt and she pulls up the leg that's hanging off the bed to roll over away from you in a fetal position, her arms collecting the blankets in a heap. You notice how your sweater dips at the small of her back, showing it off by pulling tight over her shoulders and loosening as it travels down. Before you can stop yourself you poke her in her spine there, and you feel the muscle there twitch and she grunts again before curling herself up even tighter. Affection explodes in your chest and your teeth sink in your bottom lip before you realise it.

You dare lean a little closer. "Quinn, wake up. I made you hot chocolate."

She twitches again under your hand, only this time the grunt doesn't come. You wait patiently for her to react. A few seconds pass and you feel her ribcage expand under the breath she takes.

"You did?" You pull bank your hand and cross your arms on top of the mattress, resting your chin on them.

"I did."

Her figure relaxes and you see her shoulder drop back down a little. Slowly her face comes into view. You watch amusedly as her eyes meet yours with a look that is both hopeful and annoyed. Your face simply stays the epitome of bottled up amusement as you nod slowly and answer her unasked question.

"I really did. They're on the desk."

Then she rolls fully on her back before craning her head back to look over at the other end of the room. As she does so, her neck stretches to the fullest, showing off her collar- and jawbone and you're shocked back by the sudden burst of longing in your stomach. You set your jaw and instantly retreat your hands from the bed and fold them over your stomach, which is tensing uncomfortably on its own accord.

She sees the two cups standing there, because her entire face lights up without even needing her to smile. Her eyes instantly shoot back to yours, quite literally shining with joy, before she fully sits up and leaps off the bed. Once she reach the desk she freezes, staring at them dubiously. After a moment she turns back at you, smiling apologetically.

"Which one is mine?"

"The red cup," you answer her. You're pleasantly surprised that she remembered that there would be two different cups, and that there was really only one that she'd be able to drink. You've had quite a few situations where Finn just took one, regularly resulting in him spitting the beverage back in his cup because he took the wrong one.

But Quinn just picks up both cups, walks back over to the bed, hands you the yellow one, and sits down, and you can't help but stare at her all the way. She cups her mug with both hands and rests them on her thighs, eyes locking on yours. There is a thick but comfortable silence for a couple of seconds.

"Do you want to watch up here or downstairs?"

"What are the pros and cons?"

"Downstairs there's a big screen, but we're already upstairs, and here we can sit on the bed."

You watch amusedly as a grin appears on her face.

"Let me go get extra pillows," she says as she stands up and sets her mug on your nightstand. When she reaches your door she turns back to you. "I expect a fully set up film here when I get back."

"Count on it."

After she's left the room you smile to yourself and carefully get up on your feet again before setting your mug next to Quinn's. You walk over to your desk and turn on your laptop before walking around it to search for the charger. After you make sure it's connected you pick it up and walk over to your bed, prop yourself up against the headboard and wait for it to boot up. You're just double-checking the movie when you hear footsteps to your left and look over to see Quinn standing there, barely visible underneath all the blankets and pillows she's supporting.

"Scoot over," you hear the muffled sound, and giggling you walk off the bed on your knees. After your footsteps have sounded through the room Quinn just starts walking forward. Luckily enough, your bed _is_ right in front of your door, a choice you made very deliberately, so she just walks straight into it, collapsing on top of all the fluff she was carrying. She however makes no move to get up again, so after you're stood waiting for five seconds you poke her calf lightly with your toe.

"Get up, lazy," you tell her, "You're not being very generous right now." You somehow can see that she's grinning by looking at her back. There's just playful energy radiating from it, so you poke her again with your foot and she hoists herself up.

"Okay, okay, I'm up. See?" She starts to throw the pillows against your headboard and properly spreading the blankets over the mattress. After she's done, she motions to it with both arms, no so very subtly saying 'look what I have created! Isn't it perfect?'.

"Gorgeous," you tell her, "Now scoot over." She grins and crawls up on the bed, until she's on the other end, where she reaches over the headboard to grab her mug before settling down against the heap op pillows and burying her legs under the two blankets. Meanwhile, you manage to pry two pillows from underneath her and lay them on top of each other against the footboard. On top of them you put the laptop, leaning it against the board to provide maximum stability.

When you scoot back, Quinn is softly clapping and nodding heavily with her bottom lip sticking out, and you're unsure whether you should feel complimented or ridiculed. So instead of saying anything, you grab hold of your mug and settle down next to her. She looks at you strangely.

"You have to start the movie," she says, sounding like a little child. The best thing is that she even looks the part, with her pouting the way she is. You nod to the laptop.

"You start it."

She huffs. "No," she says, "I don't want to."

"You can do it, just press the spacebar, it'll start all by itself."

She squints her eyes until they are little slits and glares at you. You just stare back at her unwavering, simply waiting for her so admit defeat. After a few unexpected intense seconds she rolls her eyes and huffs again before sitting up on her knees, reaching out and pressing the spacebar.

Instantly, the Warner Bros logo appears on screen, bright blue sky behind it, the logo itself still golden and shining in the sunlight. It doesn't really matter that you saw the first half hour of the movie yesterday, some films just never grow old. Again, you can't stop the smile that appears on your face, and you imagine you must look like a proud mother, which is strangely accurate to how you're feeling. You feel like they're your babies, Harry, Ron and Hermione, and not only them, no. Even McGonagall feels like she's your baby and you want to cherish all of them.

When you look to your right you find Quinn sporting a similar expression and it intensifies the feeling even more. She's pulled up her knees slightly, still cupping her mug with both of her hands, and she's looking at the screen like it's something precious. And to you it is.

She must feel your eyes on her, because she looks over and smiles at you.

"Nostalgia, huh?"

You nod. "Yeah." When you both turn back to the screen you dare lean a bit closer. Apparently you weren't very subtle, because you hear her let out that typical breathy laugh, that single exhale, and she settles her shoulder firmly against yours. The blankets rustle as she pulls up her left leg and wraps it underneath herself.

You allow yourself you revel in the warmth that her shoulder provides you with, and the odd sense of comfort that comes with it. Your heartbeat seems to be pulsating from your point of contact, spreading through you from that point like ripples around the point of impact of a stone. After a while, the ripple effect lessens and the source of your heartbeat returns to its rightful place. The pace of it has also returned to its original state, and the only indication that there's something different from the usual is the fact that the beats feel a little more intense than they usually do. There is now a steady warmth flowing from your joint shoulders.

When Harry arrives at the Leaky Cauldron for the first time, the pressure on your shoulder intensifies and you can see her lean closer like you're in a cinema, and any commentary you have must be given quietly as to not disturb the other people there.

"I really wish they had kept using the same bartender in every movie. It was really weird when in part three Tom was suddenly a weird, bald little man. It took me two times of watching the film until I realised that he was Tom the bartender. I thought he was just some weird little addition."

You nod. "I also wish they'd included the little rhyme on the doors when you enter Gringrotts." You feel her shoulder shake as she nods her agreement next to you and you continue to watch in silence until Olivander makes his first appearance.

"He's perfect," you hear Quinn whisper next to you. You smile to yourself and quietly hum before gently jabbing your elbow into her side in a request for her to stop talking. From your peripheral vision you see her tilt her head to look at you. You ignore her eyes and continue to watch the movie, but an amused smile appears on her face and it's obvious that she knows that though you're watching the screen, your attention is on her.

You shift your shoulder. Her smile widens. And then she does the unexpected. She moves her shoulder to rest behind yours, shimmies down a little, and places her head on your shoulder. You can't help the slight flinch it causes. Her hair tickles your neck, her breath washes over your collarbone and for a moment you're frozen solid.

Your eyes have lost their focus and are no longer trained to the screen on the other end of your bed, but have drifted downward and are now unseeingly staring at your blanket. Your lips have parted and your mouth is hanging slightly askew as you feel your face heat up from the sudden intimate position you find yourself in. Only when the dull ache in your chest starts poking harshly at your ribs do you suck in a much needed breath as subtly and calmly as you can manage.

Your eyes have regained their focus and you redirect your attention back to the screen. Though you seem to have your breathing and eyesight under control, you're a little afraid Quinn might feel the heat radiating off your face. If she does, she doesn't let it show.

The rest of the film passes in near silence. Either one of you making a remark every once in a while, but staying quiet for the greater part. When the end credits come rolling around, the same feeling you had after watching Les Intouchables envelops you again and you sigh as you lean your head back and close your eyes for a moment. You feel Quinn lift herself off your shoulder. You don't need to see her to know that she is looking at you.

The two mugs are standing on your nightstand. The inside covered with the dried up foam, a crescent moon has formed in the bottom.

The blanket shifts. A key is pressed, a click follows. For a moment the room is silent. Then there is a double click, a key being pressed, and an odd, somewhat whooshing sound follows, soon to be accompanied by _the_ Harry Potter soundtrack. A smile tugs on your lips.

"Why did you skip part two?" The blankets shift again. Weight settles close to your right, a form fits itself into you.

"I don't like it."

"And you do like part three?"

"Yes. It's my favourite." Your eyes open and you look down on the blonde head resting on your shoulder. It's weird, looking down on Quinn Fabray, for several reasons.

"Why?"

She adjusts her head until her jaw is resting against your shoulder, practically resting there. When you keep watching her, she jerks her chin in a way of pointing to the screen. When you do, Harry is watching uncle Vernon return home with aunt Margret.

"Look at him," she says, "He's never looked more like _Harry_. Not ever. In all of the other movies, his hair isn't messy, not even a little. This, this Harry is exactly the Harry I had in mind while reading the books. You can see him growing up, because this is also the part where it is no longer just a child's tale. You can feel it, the entire movie has a darker aura. From this film on, the story really begins. The returning of Peter to Voldemort is the true beginning of the battle against evil Harry was destined to fight." Her voice trails off in the end, her eyes glued to the screen.

Your eyes had long left it. It's just really hard not to look at her when she is telling you exactly what she thinks. Those are the rare moments you see _Quinn_, just Quinn. Even with her walls down, she hardly ever lets you see that part of her, she's still on her guard, ready to roll up into herself like a hedgehog or an armadillo when she feels she's getting too close to the edge. But now, she's at ease. Her eyes are focused on the moving image on your laptop with a look of interest that somehow manages to move you deeply. It's intense, and you can virtually see her focus in a beam, directed to the laptop on the other end of the bed, but it's also calm. Not just a little, but this extreme calm where your chest seems to empty itself, and you're surprised by how comfortable being hollow can feel.

You barely manage to keep yourself from reaching out and touching her face, her cheek. The urge is overwhelming. It seems to fill your entire being, to pour out of your fingertips, wanting to reach for her itself in case you decide to remain still. Which you do.

"Do you really love Harry Potter?"

Your question slices through the silence like a knife, not quite surprising, but not expected either. Quinn turns to look at you, and you make sure to pull back your head as she feels it's a great idea to keep her chin on your shoulder, unnecessarily bringing her face too close to yours for comfort.

"As in, Daniel Radcliffe, or-?"

"No, no, the series. The books, films, however you interpret that." You watch how realization dawns on her and she nods a couple of times while her gaze becomes distant for a couple of seconds as she really thinks about what you've just asked her. With a definitive squint she refocuses again and looks at you seriously.

"Yeah, I do." She doesn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. Affection softens your features.

"Why?"

"Because it shows you a new way to view the world." She watches you as you try to wrap your mind around what she might mean by that. After a moment you hear her amused exhale. "It's because when you keep finding new ways to look at the world, you find things you would never find otherwise. And so it increases your knowledge of the world, of life itself. So if you take it that way, and treat it like a thought experiment, finding new points of view to look at the world from teaches you more about it. And so when you keep finding new ways to look at the world, the possibilities are practically endless. And then, everything is possible." She looks at you the way she was looking at the screen before, intently, but with such a calm expression it mesmerizes you. You feel your chest constrict and your breathing hitch. "Even if it seems a fantasy."

You take your eyes off her for a moment as you let the full extent of what she just told you really get through to you. A smile twitches at the corners of your mouth and you sigh lightly before looking back at her.

"Is that what you want?" you ask her, "for life to have no limits?"

She returns your smile. "Who doesn't?"

"Do you feel caged then?"

You watch as the smile slides off her face, only a ghost of it remaining, as she mulls over your question. You watch her with rapt attention, no longer even caring that it may not be deemed entirely appropriate. For once, you allow your eyes to roam, to behold silently how hey eyes never seem to rest on one point when she's focused, to truly take in the way her brow flows into the bridge of her nose, and from there into a pouty upper lip. You trace a strand of hair that is threatening to leave its place tucked behind her ear, and from there follow the shell of her ear to her jawline to where her chin rests on your shoulder.

Not everything you try to take in is in focus, simply because she is too close for your eyes to be able to focus any more, but even out of focus, it's probably one of the most gorgeous sights you ever had the pleasure to behold.

"I don't know." Her voice pulls you back to her, and you look to see her eyes still not focusing either. "I don't think caged is the right word. Possibly not living up to the full potential would fit better."

"Do you plan on telling me that you have even more potential than you currently appear to be having? Because I think that may be considered unnatural."

A smile blossoms on her face. "I wasn't necessarily talking about myself, you know?"

"Then what?"

"The world. It could be so much more than it is today. It's shallow, in every sense of the word. Or at least the people in it are. The world itself is magical, full of wonders and beauty still to be discovered. But we can't appreciate it." She glances to the screen. Neville is just struggling with his book. You feel her huff against your arm, and she nods to the screen.

"Take Neville. He's the weakling of Gryffindor. Or at least, that what we think until he stands up to Voldemort in the eighth movie. But really, he is sweet, and courageous. He never loses sight of what is really important, and he ends up taking over Dumbledore's Army when Harry doesn't return in year seven. He will keep going until he achieves what he strives for, even if it will take him forever, because let's face it, he's not the most talented wizard in Hogwarts. But he is not without talent. He has a great gift for herbology, only that is a talent no-one really cares for, because they don't notice how amazing it is until they need it without even knowing that that is what they need."

The urge to kiss her is ruthless and sudden, the force of it has you sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to keep you from giving into it.

"The people in this world are like that too. They don't see past the outer layer into what makes everything worth it, they don't even try, and it's horrible to witness." She looks to you again. "I'm sorry I was one of them."

Your heart breaks.

Her eyes are shining with remorse. There is no danger of tears like there was in the bathroom before, just remorse in its purest form. Almost tangible. You can't bear to look at it for longer than the couple of seconds that you already have, and desperate for her to fully acknowledge your forgiveness you do not search for words this time. Instead you let defiance fill you up from the inside and reach out for her. You brush that strand of hair that has been taunting you for so long behind her ear and pull her to you as well as it works with the position you're both in.

You feel her shoulders stiffen under the palms of your hands before relaxing. She places her hand on just above your elbow, on the back of your arm, and shifts her head until it's comfortable against your collarbone. Her forehead is resting in the crook of your neck, and her long, deep breaths blow past it as the both of you slowly synchronise. Your breathing starts to come at the same time, and your hearts are beating the same beat.

You allow yourself to press your mouth to the top of her head, not in a kiss, but simply in a gesture of comfort. The blonde moves you, and you're filled with dread as you realize she's probably moving out of the embrace. You weren't ready to let go of her yet.

Luckily enough, she doesn't, she simply moves her head so that she can watch the movie from the position she's in. Your grin is inevitable, and you feel her do the same. You watch the rest of the movie without moving, your absently toying with her hair neglected.

When the end credits of the final movie come rolling, it's almost evening. You decided to skip the sixth movie because you both agreed that it should better have been named Harry Potter and the Hormones, and because you agreed that you quite remembered the plot well enough. You left out the fact that you always cry when Dumbledore dies.

You ended up fully lying down on the bed, because you somehow always end up sliding down from a sitting position on a bed into a lying one. After two times of getting up again you decided to stay down. Seeing that you're naturally smaller than Quinn is, your starting positions ended up being switched, and you're currently both lying on your back, your head resting on her shoulder, her left arm caught between the both of yours. You watch the credits for a minute or two.

"Rachel?" she quietly asks from your right.

You hum to her that you're listening.

"Do you have any animated movies?" A lazy smile spreads over your face.

"Yes, I do," you tell her.

"Do you have Up?"

"Yes, I do."

"Can we watch it?"

You hum.

"Where is it?"

"Downstairs, in the cabin on the tv's right."

The arm in your grasp stirs, and you tighten your hold on it and grumble. A light chuckle rains down on you.

"Let go, Rachel. I promise I'll be right back."

"But it's not hospitable to let your guest fetch things." The moment you've said it you know it's useless. The shoulder is relieved of its take of being your extra pillow and you feel a soft hand move under yours and lift it from the arm it was holding hostage. Once the second arm is freed, your hand in placed back on your stomach. The dip to your right intensifies, then another dip on your left appears, the one on your right is removed, and a moment later a dull thud fills the room. The soft padding of feet on the carpet slowly becomes softer and softer until you can hear nothing but your own breathing.

* * *

**A/N: As always, if you come across any typos or grammatical errors, please don't hesitate to tell me. Also, plain good ol' reviews telling me what you thought of it are always welcome. They help me improve, or otherwise give me motivation to keep writing ^^**

**Until next time!**

**OH! And before I forget! Congrats on making it to 2013! Have a good one! ^^**


	16. Confrontation

**A/N: Wow, I'm so sorry you guys! It took me so much longer than I thought it would! But sadly enough you can't do much with my apologies, so here! Have a new chapter!**

**Oh, and I want to thank StrawberryMacchiato for their constant support ;D Seriously, you keep me going!**

* * *

An intense quiet envelops you. Though, when you listen harder to it, it's not really quiet at all. A soft noise fills the endless space. It resembles some kind of tapping. The sound is extremely arrhythmic and seems to reverberate somehow. It's only when you sigh and breathe in deeply through your nose and you smell a salty scent that you are able to place the sound as water. Water gently colliding with a surface. What surface? The ground on which you're lying moves.

Ah, it's a boat, you realise. You're on a boat floating on the ocean.

You want to open your eyes, you want to see the vastness of the seas, but your lids are heavy and you can't seem to open them. A weight presses down on your chest, an odd sense of comfort and content, keeping you from _really_ wanting to change anything about the situation you're in. You stir and move your chin from your left shoulder to your right. It's not as comfortable. You turn your shoulders with it, so you're now lying on your right side.

When you move, your arm hits something soft. A rush of cold air washes past your back. You shiver a little but ultimately settle down, content with the position you find yourself in.

The same way the sound of water hitting your boat invaded your senses, there is now yet another sound being added. A piano. Soft, fragile, sad. A simple melody, childlike even, comes drifting into your conscience.

Your closed lids flutter as you realise that you know this song. You've heard it before. There is an odd sense of nostalgia, of melancholy attached to it. Your closed eyelids flutter and you frown while you attempt to place it. As you do, the music swells, until you're completely surrounded by it. Somehow, the sound becomes tangible. Something is covering you.

When you shift, fabric shifts with you and rustling accompanies it. The soft surface you touched earlier now also feels warm and you hand twitches against it.

It moves. The surface moved. There is rustling and the feel of fabric against your hand. In a reflex you pull back your head to protect it from whatever this moving thing might be. The movement somehow pulls you into shock, and your eyes open at once.

Your right hand is tangled in a shirt, and confused you follow it upward to find a blonde head. Ah yes, that's true. Quinn's here. So that wasn't a dream. A smile tugs on your lips as you continue to look at the face belonging to the cheerleader sitting in your bed, intently ignoring you. Does she even know you're awake?

You follow her gaze and your eyes land on your laptop sitting on two cushions at your foot end. Up is playing. The piano music you heard before is coming from there and you watch for a moment as two people on screen lay in the grass and watch the clouds. A soft sniffle pulls your attention away from the screen, and your eyes land once again on the blonde's face.

But what you see makes your eyebrows pull together.

Her eyes are shining, watery, more than would be considered normal. They're also a little bloodshot, as are her cheeks. You notice the muscles in her jaw are tensed. You watch as she swallows and you realise she's quietly crying.

Her eyes never leave the screen, and affection pulls at your heart fiercely when it dawns on you that she's crying because of the movie. She's crying because Ellie dies.

You close your eyes and smile to yourself to calm the whirling in your chest before moving to sit up. As you do so, you take her arm between yours and give it a little squeeze. She blinks and casts her eyes down before looking at you from the corner of her eyes, her line of sight remaining downcast, landing on your hands on her arm. She smiles a little smile before looking up at the screen again. The movement causes the subtle balance in her eyes to be disrupted and all the air in your lungs escapes you when you see a single tear falling down.

Before you have a chance to think about it, you've pressed your forehead to her cheek, feeling the cold moisture hit your warm face, your chin resting on her shoulder. She doesn't move, in fact, she even tenses a little, but you're so caught up in yourself that the thought that you might want to pull away doesn't even occur to you. The only things you notice are the forceful hurricane in your chest, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes, the way the tear has stopped traveling down, the fragrance of the ocean and added weight on the top of your head as she rests her head on yours. A deep breath somehow forces itself into your lungs, and you blow it out as slowly as you can, because all the emotions inside of you are threatening to break through, and you don't think you would survive it if that happened.

Downstairs, a door slams closed. Your eyes switch to the door as your attention does as well. The chime of keys reaches you. The rustling of a coat being shrugged off follows. As you drop your head and sigh lightly you chin presses into her shoulder, and the gentle weight on top of your head lifts. Not white ready to let go of the contact you remain in your current position. The muscles in your jaw clench an unclench rhythmically as you mourn the inconvenience.

"I should go," Quinn's voice breaks the silence. Shocked you lift you head from her shoulder and look at her profile.

"Why?"

Her eyes are downcast as she huffs and smiles lightly. "I don't think I'm quite ready to be friendly with your parents and act like nothing ever happened."

You frown at this. "They're forgiving people, Quinn. They may have their doubts, but I'm sure than if you be your charming self, they'll see no reason to keep any grudges. Who do you think I learned to be this forgiving from?"

"I'm not worried about your fathers, Rachel," she sighs, "I don't deserve it yet." When you look at her confused she explains, "Their forgiveness."

Your eyes twitch and your eyebrows furrow briefly.

"You're wrong."

"No, I'm not, and you know it." You raise an eyebrow at her. "Okay, maybe you don't, but I do, and that's enough. What I've done to you was horrible, and I don't know what was wrong with me to think you deserved to be treated like that. I do not deserve their acceptance and forgiveness. Yet. But I'm working on it, and I'm getting closer." She lifts her eyes from her hands folded in her lap. "But I'm not there yet, and I will keep working until I reach that point where I can allow myself that privilege. So for now, I should go."

You watch in silence as she lifts the blanket and moves out from under it, walking over your legs and hopping off the bed. After her feet touch the floor in a dull thud she walks over to your bureau and takes a bag from the chair standing there. Apparently she got herself a bag to store her clothes in from this morning. She takes it in her arms, hugging it to her front.

"Will you walk me out?"

A smile tugs on your lips.

"Naturally."

You follow close behind as she walks down the stairs. From the kitchen a lovely aroma is spreading through the house. Apparently your daddy came home first. When you're halfway down the stairs, his voice comes drifting through.

"Hey honey! I didn't know you were home already!"

When you set foot on the tile floor you catch Quinn's eye and point your thumb to the kitchen hall, indicating that you're going to say hi to your father real quick. She nods and moves to lean against the wall. You walk the couple of steps it takes to round the corner and reach the kitchen where your father is chopping up some cucumber, while a pan is sizzling on the fire. When your father hears you enter he glances over at the entrance, and his face breaks out in a smile as he sees you enter the kitchen. He puts down his knife and wipes his hands on a towel.

"Good evening, darling," he says, before stepping forward and kissing you on the cheek. Most people have told you thy found it strangely intimate, for you it's just daily routine.

"How was work?" you ask him.

"Oh, well, the usual. People will be people, peeves and all." He winks at you before returning to his cucumber.

"Who is your friend?" He asks then, and you start, unprepared for the question. Your mind reels.

"I don't understand," you tell him.

"Your friend, the one that was, or is with you upstairs. Who is it?"

You can only furrow your brows in reply, too confused by how he knows someone is here to answer him. When his eyes dart over to you and notice the state you're in another smile spreads on his face, a gentle, teasing smile.

"I saw the shoes. There's an unfamiliar pair of shoes next to the stairs."

Ah. Well, you weren't as subtle as you thought you were, apparently. Your eyes flit to the entrance to the kitchen, well aware that Quinn is standing just around the corner. You don't know what to tell him, but before you've been silent so long that it becomes suspicious, another voice answers for you.

"Good evening Mr Berry," Quinn says as the rounds the corner, a pleasant smile on her lips, back straightened and not a hint of insecurity, as if this was planned from the beginning. The brows of your father rise surprised, only a hint of his smile remaining on his lips. You can only see it because you know it was there just a moment ago.

"Quinn Fabray," he says, his tone neutral, but far from inviting. It's more of a statement. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here."

Quinn nods. "As I can imagine."

"Will you be staying for dinner?" Leroy asks, but it sounds more like he feels obligated to ask than he actually wants her to stay. You wince internally at his lack of hospitality. The smile that you watch spread over Quinn's face is one that defeatedly acknowledges the truth of her statements made upstairs, and is saddening and hurtful because of it. You wish your father would have proven her wrong, that he had trusted your judgement for what it was, and moved on just like you have. But instead you are forced to see the truth in her words as well, a truth you had hoped at all costs to avoid.

"No," Quinn speaks up, "I'm expected home tonight, so I won't be joining you. Thank you for offering though, I really appreciate the gesture."

Leroy nods. "Naturally."

A silence falls, and you're not sure what to think of it. Uncomfortable is not the word you'd use, but there _is_ something in the air, and it's making you fidgety. Quinn and your father re staring each other down for the whole two seconds the silence lasts, a small smile still plastered on Quinn's lips, your father's a straight line. Then Quinn breaks the contact and looks at you.

"I'd better get going," she says softly, and you nod. She turns back to your father. "Goodnight, Mr Berry," she tells him, inclining her head respectfully. He mimics the action.

"Goodnight, Quinn."

Then Quinn turns around and disappears around the corner. When she's gone you shoot your father a look, and you can just see his brows furrow before you move to follow her. She's putting on a jacket when you reach the hallway again. It's a thin one, with material that's light and makes this clearly definable rustling noise, louder than usual. At least she brought a jacket with her this morning.

That reminds you.

"How will you be getting home?" you ask her, remembering that when she showed up in your room, she'd been wearing a running outfit.

She shrugs and grins at you sheepishly. "I have legs."

"I'm sure you do, but I'm not letting you walk all the way home in this weather." When Quinn opens her mouth to protest you interrupt her and tell her not to argue with you by raising a single finger in the air. "I'm not. You will be getting home in a car, and if you insist on getting home yourself I'll let you drive, but you are _not_ going to walk home, you hear me?"

Her lips purse in an attempt not to smile. "I hear you."

"Good. Now let me get my coat."

The drive to her house is silent. She sits in the passenger's seat with the plastic bag with her clothes on her lap, hands neatly folded on top of it. She looks, more like stares out of the window for the entire ride, never moving, never speaking. You dare not breach the silence, because it's one of those moments her entire being is radiating thoughts, and it stirs awake this odd sense of respect and cautiousness inside of you, having you watch your every step in an effort not to cross her. No, that's the wrong choice of words.

To please her.

That's all you want really, to please her, and by it for her to accept you. You're content watching her in moments like this, content knowing that she allows you to be with her. It makes you feel honoured, and that's enough for you. It has to be enough for you.

When you arrive at her gate you park the car next to the curb and turn off the engine when it becomes clear that Quinn is making no attempt to exit the car. You want to look at her, but feel that this situation somehow asks for subtlety, and so you find yourself staring at your hands still laying on the steering wheel, while carefully eyeing her from your peripheral vision. After a couple of seconds have passed and Quinn is still sitting motionless in your car the need to break the silence starts to claw at your lungs. It's not that the silence is uncomfortable, it's just that it feels like Quinn is needing you to say something for her to tell you what's on her mind, because only then you can do something about it. Your eyes flit over the dashboard while you wreck your brain to find something safe to say, but in the end it abandons you, and what you blurt out is: "Quinn, about my father, I'm s-"

"Don't you dare apologize for your father, Rachel." Her voice is soft and calm, but it has this finality that instantly makes you snap your mouth shut while you finally dare turn in your seat to look straight at her. You can't stop the sharp intake of berth or the clenching of your heart when you see the pleading, tired look in her eyes. She looks so much older, so much more worn than she is and it physically hurts you to see her this defeated. Without thinking you abruptly shift to fully face her, your hands swiftly shooting forward to take hold of hers. You clasp them tightly together between yours and pull them toward you, imploring her to look at you while subconsciously leaning in a bit, desperate to get the point you're about to make across.

"Quinn," you tell her, your voice dropping to little more than a whisper, "I will not sit by idly when things like this happen and I have to see you hurting like this. What my father did tonight was _wrong_, and you know why?" When her face pulls in painful incredulity at the word wrong and she downcasts her eyes you tug on her hands sharply but gently, ordering her to look at you when you're talking to her. Indignant emerald shoots up to meet you and before continuing you first hold her gaze for a moment. "It was wrong because I specifically asked him not to treat you this way. And I asked him that with a reason. Because he doesn't know you like I do. I admit, I don't fully know you yet either, but he has only ever had my stories of you to make up a judgement of, and let's be honest, my stories of you have until recently never had many positive things to say about you. I can't expect him to immediately take a liking to you as much as I have, but I only ever asked him to give up his previous ideas of you and embrace you as if he had no idea who you were, because I told him that this person that I got to know is absolutely gorgeous in every way. I merely asked him to accept my new friend and turn over a new leaf and he blatantly ignored that request. So no, what he did was not okay, regardless of what you may think of it." You squeeze her hands for good measure, eyes begging her to understand that you mean every word.

Her eyes search yours for something you wish you knew, because if you knew, you could give it to her, but whether she finds it or not you'll never know, because you see her eyes narrow a fraction before she looks down, avoiding your gaze. She's slightly slumped forward, her usual perfectly straight and confident composure gone, and with her head down she looks even more powerless, and your heart lurches painfully. So you momentarily shut down your brain and slowly rest your head against hers, the bridge of your nose being able to feel exactly where her hairline begins.

You can see her shoulders tremble with the shaky breath she releases and you close your eyes as you let her take over your senses. When you inhale, you smell the ocean and a weak smile tugs on your lips as it somehow lulls you into a peaceful state of mind, your heartbeat slowing but intensifying. You nudge her slightly with your head before murmuring, "Now come on, find that amazingly confident girl I've come to care so much for again and get yourself out of my car." When you pull way you swiftly press your lips to her temple in a comforting gesture, but when a hurricane breaks loose in your chest you quickly pull away, taking care not to be obvious in your sudden need to put distance between the two of you.

But when you pull away Quinn is looking at you with a tiny smile on her lips, her eyes soft, and the storm inside of you dies down practically immediately, instead leaving you humming in this easy frequency. Though you're still restless because of the sudden wave of pure _want _you have to actively bring yourself to return her smile. Hers widens a little as she notices your struggle, and then she's leaning forward and pressing her lips to your cheek and just like before you're frozen solid.

She lingers for a moment. You can feel her smiling against your cheek. "Thank you," she murmurs, "For the flower as well," and then she's opening the door and stepping out of the car, jogging to the entrance of the gate and giving you a little wave while moving through it. In a matter of seconds she's disappeared into the grey evening, leaving you with nothing but yourself and the sound of the rain molesting your car.

You can't stop yourself from murmuring "You're welcome." into the empty space on your deserted passenger's seat. Remaining in a little bit of a daze you turn back on the engine and slowly move back onto the street again, unsure of your current driving skills. When you get home you're not really sure how you did it.

The next day you hardly see her. Seeing as you don't have any classes with her today, this isn't very surprising in any way, but somehow, it still stings that you only catch a glimpse of her during lunch break. Especially after yesterday. For some reason you'd expected her to be more… friendly to you. You thought you'd been making some serious progress.

When you're walking toward your car at the end of the day you can see the cheerios running on the field ten meters to your right. Subconsciously you slow your pace and keep your eyes trained to the group of people moving across the field as one. At some point, you come to a halt, watching the practice along your shoulder, chin hidden in a thick scarf and clutching your books to your chest. You don't realize you've been staring until a pair of hazel register in your mind and you startle yourself awake again.

A smirk spreads over Quinn's face at your antics, but it quickly transforms to a friendly smile and she nods at you subtly before turning her attention back to her squad. You didn't manage to smile back in time. Shaking your head to yourself you resume your way to your car, oblivious to a pair of pale blues sticking to you unabashedly.

When he notices you didn't see him at all the slim boy stands up, gracefully swings his messenger bag over his shoulder and starts making his way down the risers. From behind, he moves closer to you, his steps confident and unwavering. When passing you he swiftly hooks his arm in yours and jerks you along with him.

Staggering to catch your step again you look up at the person dragging you along and frown when you register Kurt's face. Doing a quick skip to regulate your steps again you manage to regain your footing and you adjust your pace to stay next to the well groomed boy.

"Really Kurt, where are you taking me, if you don't mind me asking," you huff, and your frown deepens when Kurt just does a little shake with his shoulders, intentionally or not jerking you along.

"We're going to have a cup of coffee at the Lima Bean," he tells you, never bothering to look at you. "I think we are in need of a little gay to girl talk."

His arm retreats from yours as he fishes his key out of his bag and his car beeps twice when he unlocks it in a single fluent motion. He subtly pushes you toward the other side of the car, never breaking stride himself. You stagger once more, and this time when you regain your step you shoot him a glare. You really don't have a good feeling about this.

He raises his eyebrow at you over the roof of the car when he pulls open his door before instantly sinking down in his seat when you're still standing at the door, your arms limply hanging at your sides. You can basically hear him rolling his eyes at you. Doing do yourself you also open the door and drop down in the seat next to his, using the momentum to drag your seatbelt along with you.

The drive to the Lima Bean is silent. Kurt doesn't talk for a reason you still haven't been able to put your finger on, but he seems rather upset with you, because his whole posture is radiating this serious aura and you're silent because you're irritated by Kurt's manhandling you earlier and dragging you along without much of an explanation.

When the engine dies down he shoots you a look that clearly tells you to follow him and gets out of the car. He sits you down in one of the booths and walks over to the barista to place an order. You shift your gaze from people driving and walking by to people sitting in the booth to the employees doing their job behind the counter. You feel fidgety and restless and to keep yourself distracted you decide to shrug off your coat. At first you let it pool behind you, but it's an annoying bug poking in your bag and you rise to pull it from behind you and dump it into the corner.

You're just patting the dust off it when you hear a distinct tap next to you and look up to see Kurt sliding into the booth setting down his own cup. Yours is already standing at your end of the booth.

You plop down again and your hand is already reaching out when you ask, "Did you make sure to order-"

"A vanilla soy latte," Kurt finishes your sentence, "I may not enjoy your presence at all times, but I do tend to remember those kind of things. It's kind of hard not to when you take care to double check every time we go here."

He looks at you a bit disappointed, but this particular emotion is overshadowed by irritation, however light. And true enough, when you can't stop yourself from checking the cup you see that it is in fact a vanilla soy latte, just the way you always want it. Even though Kurt just made very clear that he even found it slightly offending that you didn't think he'd remember your coffee order, you still smile to yourself, because he actually _did_ remember.

That is not something that happens to you very often.

But Kurt clears his throat, and your eyes immediately shoot up to take in the neat boy across the table. He's drawing circles on the table with his cup, holding it lightly at the rim with all five fingers. You find it's rather soothing to look at it, the rhythmic sound seemingly slowing your heart down a bit. The cup comes to a stop and is set down on the table with determination. Kurt taps the rim twice, his hand still in the position it had when it was twirling the cup before he levels you with an intense gaze.

"It seems we have a problem," he then speaks. You look at him with a confused frown. Upon seeing it, he nods sideways, his hand resting on the cup making a similar motion. "Because I find myself not really sure what side to pick here."

You remain silent, still not understanding where this is going.

"As we both know, as does the rest of the entire student body, you're currently dating Finn. And you are - sources can confirm - very happy together indeed." He inclines his head slightly. "Yes, Finn can be a little dense, but he's a sweet boy and I've noticed he's been making actual improvements over the last couple of weeks. So, it's basically everything a girl in high school would dream of, successfully dating the quarterback, I even dare say that some might set a goal like this as _only_ goal to accomplish while being in high school."

He lets his fingers fold into his palm and presses his lips to the back of them.

"Yet I can't help but notice you seemingly pushing this high school heaven aside for a certain blonde."

Your entire face drains of any emotion when his words register. His eyes remain unwavering and you stare each other down for a moment. Then, his eyebrows raise, and with it, his eyes leave yours and he leans back while spreading his hands at his sides, palms facing up.

"So I find myself conflicted, because naturally I wish you nothing but the best, but I believe that I _should_, in fact, remind you that it is my brother's heart you're toying with here." He leans forward and intwines his fingers, folding his hands together of the table. "And I will not just sit by and let that happen."

Your mouth is literally hanging open a little as you process what he's just said to you. Closing your eyes and frowning in concentration you hold up a hand to stop him from speaking.

"I have _no_ intention _whatsoever_ to play with Finn's heart, Kurt, let me make that very clear."

"But do you deny your affections for this certain blonde?"

You swallow and clench your jaw before answering him. "No," you tell him lowly, your hand curling around the carton cup. At your admission, Kurt leans back in his seat once again. He regards you for a moment in silence. Uncomfortable emotions swirl in your stomach. You don't know what to make of this. You don't know if he's judging you or not, you can't tell what he's thinking and it's making you start scratching at the marker on your cup.

"How long?"

You sigh lightly. "A month, maybe. Maybe two. I'm not really sure. There wasn't really a point where it just popped up." You dare to look him square in the eye. "It happened quite gradually."

He nods at this, apparently thinking it over.

"Is it bad?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, is it intense? Is it so intense you plan on acting on it?"

You shake your head. "It's getting more intense, that I must admit, but other than that it's a harmless, hopeless crush. I won't act on it. It wouldn't get me anywhere but back where I was and preferably don't want to be again."

"How do you mean 'intense'?"

You inhale deeply and shift your eyes to the ceiling.

"I mean 'intense' as in, it was just a nervous feeling whenever she got to close, but it's developed into actually wanting _more_. If you catch my gist."

Kurt waves his hands and his eyes dart everywhere while his face contorts into a somewhat pained expression. "Oh, yes, I catch your gist alright. Please let me stop you right there."

Your hand is moving through your hair in slight embarrassment before you even realize it.

"But just so we're clear, you're not intent on hurting Finn?"

You feel highly offended at the accusation and you're pretty sure your face conveys this precise emotion.

"No! No, of course not! I would never!"

Kurt slumps in his seat, the air around him immediately losing it's tense quality and becoming more relieved than anything, really, infecting you with it. "Thank god," he says, "Because I really was not looking forward to that talk."

He blows out air through puffed cheeks and takes a sip of his coffee immediately after. With the cup still at his lips he frowns at the taste.

"They really should put a bit more effort in training their baristas," Kurt murmurs, more to himself than to you, or anyone else for that matter. He then looks at you again and continues where you left off, "You know just as much as everyone how much love Finn, I really do. And I really just couldn't watch you fawning over Quinn and not want to check up on you about it, you understand that, right?"

Naturally, you nod.

"But really, _Quinn Fabray_?" he leans forward to emphasize his point, "You couldn't think of anyone else to develop a lesbian crush on?"

You roll your eyes. "Trust me, if I had any say in it, it would not have been her. I'd rather have chosen Santana than Quinn, at least she's gay, I'd actually stand more of a chance with her than I do with Quinn."

Your face pulls after you finish talking.

"God, that sounds really depressing when you say it out loud. It sounded more of a logical assumption in my head."

Kurt picks up his cup and raises it to the middle of the table.

"To unrequited crushes," he says, and you tap your cup to his. He smiles at you sweetly and takes a sip, his face contorting again, but not nearly as bad as before.

"You know you can always talk to me about this, right?"

You nod.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I!" you say as you roll your eyes at him, "You're my go to person when it comes to things like this, don't you know that, Kurt?"

"Why didn't you come to me then?"

"It's not really something I will ever voluntarily talk about. I was in need of you taking the first step." He smiles at you again.

"Well, I did, and aren't you happy about it?"

"That depends," you say, shrugging your shoulders, "On whether you decide to pester me with it."

"Oh, but darling," Kurt sing songs, "You can't expect me to officially know this and _not_ make fun of you every once in a while?"

"People may notice!"

Kurt winks at you before raising his cup to his lips again.

"I can be discreet."

* * *

**A/N: I haven't had the time to check for any spelling errors yet (or just auto-corrects I'm not very happy with my lovely assisting laptop tends to make), so if you notice something, please don't hesitate to tell me?**

**And please do review.!**

**Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you think you can improve, or just your random thoughts. They really do help, more than I think you realise ^^**

**I won't be giving you a date for the next update, because I've found that my life is too chaotic right now to make any promises like that. I _CAN_ and will promise you there _will_ be a next chapter, but when it will be here is still a mystery to me as well.**


	17. Content

**17. Content**

* * *

**A/N. Okay then. That was quite the wait. I apologise. I hope this makes up for it, because it's... pretty big. Any songs I've used here are the following:**

**Satie - Gymnopedie _/watch?v=XVve2KvDhv4_**

**Yann Tiersen - Comptine d'Un Autre Été _/watch?v=H7BRpmbfPk0_**

**Erik 'Jit' Scheele - Sarabande _/watch?v=J1JFTKk8tDY_**

* * *

Kurt takes you shopping. Puck is hosting a party on Friday. Not this one, next Friday. Funnily enough, you actually heard about the party from Puck himself. When he asked wether you'd come, he'd said it would be just a small gathering of 'just some of his friends, nothing big', so naturally, by the end of the day, the entire student body was informed.

You mostly watch as Kurt whirls through the shop. You've been to four already, but haven't bought a single thing. Whenever you saw something that you figured would be good, Kurt simply took one look at it, gasped, and told you that you simply _couldn't_.

So you've learned to just watch, and try on whatever he throws at you. This time he comes to a sudden halt, snatches something off the racks and turns around so quickly you almost get whiplashed by the piece of clothing he's holding in his right hand.

"Try this on."

You take a step back so that you can actually see whatever he's holding in front of your face in focus. For what you can see, it's a black dress. A _short_ black dress, even for your standards. Your mouth forms an 'o' and you're on your way to protesting when Kurt simply drapes it over you and tells you "Try it on."

After you've cleared your face of the clothing you level him with a medium glare, but he places a hand on your shoulder, inclines his head, and says, "Trust me." You hold his gaze for a second and lose miserably. Rolling your eyes you make your way to the changing cabins in the back of the store. Behind you, you can feel Kurt radiating glee.

After you shut the door behind you, you can hear the thud of him leaning against it and you sigh.

"Is that really necessary?" you call over the walls of the cabin, that end half a meter below the ceiling of the store.

"Absolutely," he answers you, "And I want to see you when you've finished changing." You turn to face your reflection in the mirror that hangs on the wall of the cabin and let your eyes follow the length of your own body. Then you switch your gaze to the cloth in your hands. Another sigh escapes you as you drape the dress over a bar on the wall.

"I can hear you," Kurt sing songs.

"Trust me, I know."

It doesn't take long to put on the dress, but the amount of time it takes you to open the door for Kurt is considerable. For a multitude of seconds you just stare at your own reflection, the only thing running through your mind is _Oh. My god._

Kurt obviously heard the rustling of clothes stop, but he still let you gape at your reflection long enough to startle when you hear his voice reach you over the thin walls of the cabin.

"Did you die? Do I need to come in and resuscitate you?"

You jerk your eyes away from your reflection and they land on the wall to your left. You blink once, slowly, and then another time before calling over to him, "No. No, I'm fine."

"Well, come out here then."

When you move to exit the cabin your hand twitches once as it rests on the door.

Kurt starts when you open the door, the surface he had previously been leaning on giving way behind him. He quickly regains his footing and smoothly turns around to face you, a satisfied smirk instantly spreading over his face as he takes in your appearance.

You've never been one for bashfulness, but now you can't help but cast down your eyes and shift your weight several times while Kurt takes you in. Your fingers restlessly fidget with the hem of your dress, that you don't even have to make a little effort for to reach. It's a very simple dress, there are no horizontal stitchings and the back is rather low as it loosely drapes from your shoulders while hugging your stomach and hips perfectly. The low back makes you feel exposed, but also bold in a way you haven't experienced before.

The low sound of a whistle reaches your ears.

"Quinn Fabray will eat her heart out."

Your head snaps up. "How does she have anything to do with this?"

"If there's anything I know, it's people, and she is going to eat it while it's beating." Your face scrunches up. "Okay, that was a little crude, but really, think about it," he says, "First of all, you'll be the center of attention, something she's usually been, with all the guys tripping over themselves to get a moment of her attention. But not only will she have to watch all their eyes leave _her_ and know exactly why, she'll also have to watch Finn getting you."

That was the wrong thing to say. Instantly, you feel the blood rising to your cheeks. Your face grows hot, and you know he doesn't mean it like that, but you can't help it. You hope your natural tan covers it. Meanwhile, Kurt rattles on and you've never been more grateful for his tendency to do that.

"I mean, in a way, she's always been a bit of a third wheel, with Santana and Brittany being this two-people unity, and now she's finally got someone beside the two of them, you, and still be an extra person. With you being with Finn, that is."

His eyes grow distant, resting on something behind you. You don't bother to look, because it probably is nothing worth looking at, he's just lost in thought. Instead, you look down yourself again, still not used to the dress. When you hear him hum, you look back up. He's nodding slowly, his eyes still distant, corners of his mouth pulled down, brows high on his forehead. He breathes in deeply through his nose.

"Tough life."

Your brows rise at the comment, a smile starting to form on your face, but before it's actually formed, Kurt looks at you again. He takes a step back and motions for you to do a three sixty. You comply without a word and when you face him again, he's resting the back of his fingers against his chin and leaning his elbow on his other hand, lower arm spread over his stomach.

"I'm going to buy this for you." You move to protest, but he waves it away. "It's not up for discussion. Now get dressed, I believe we're done for today."

* * *

Quinn hardly talks to you that week. It makes you feel a little abandoned, and you can't stand that you feel like this. You knew when you started this friendship that you better shouldn't get attached, because all your previous attempts with Quinn resulted in it falling apart before your eyes, so why would this time be any different? You _told_ yourself not to get attached, and here you are, getting attached.

You scold yourself quietly.

During your free hour together on Thursday you continue to learn her Satie's Gymnopedie. She's struggling with combining both hands, because the differences in chords are so subtle they're easily forgotten, but they're absolutely necessary in the piece, and when you forget them, it instantly sounds out of tune. The two you speak fairly little, she's mostly concentrating on her hands, and you're content being near her.

You watch as her eyes squint in concentration as she reaches a part which she seems to have real trouble with. You watch as the tip of her tongue peeks out in effort and your eyes shoot to the keys, where you can literally _see_ the struggle inside her reflected in her trembling hands as she moves them over the keys and prepares to press down.

It's the wrong chord.

Her hands are instantly gone from the piano and she groans in frustration as she leans back before letting her straight posture fall and she slumps on the bench. You laugh heartily at her and move to sit next to her. When she doesn't move, you bump her lightly with your shoulder and smile when she leans back into you.

"You probably don't notice," you tell her, "But you're already doing better than when you came in here."

She huffs a little. "Doing better," she breathes, a disbelieving smile on her face, "You're too kind for your own good, you know that?" She levels you with a pointed look. You shrug one shoulder and swing your legs once.

"I know."

She laughs silently and her eyes drift back to the piano again. She lifts her left hand from her lap where they both were resting and sets it next to her hip, leaning on it slightly. Her posture sags, her entire upper body being held up by that left arm, and she lifts her free hand onto the keys. Her fingers retreat in hesitance once, before she seems to make up her mind, shifts her weight, transferring it to her right arm now, and strikes a chord. Two E's, an octave apart, followed lazily by a B.

Once it's been pressed you know what comes next by instinct. Muscle memory.

G and E. B again. Repeat sequence.

Her play is hesitant, the fact that she stopped playing for an extended period of time easily filtering through. She keeps playing the opening sequence over and over again, and you smile to yourself. You wait for her to finish it once more, and then move to set your fingers to the keys as well. When your cue comes you play the right hand.

She freezes next to you, only for a moment, but the pause between notes just a fraction too long not to be noticeable for your trained ears. Her head tilts just the slightest, and you feel her watching you from the corner of her eye as you meet her halfway after she's recovered again and the pace is back to normal.

You're playing an octave too high, but you can't find it in yourself to care. After a while, she seems to regain some of her confidence and her playing becomes more fluent as she's able to concentrate more on _how_ to play than on _what_ to play. The song consists of two times the same melody, so the second half of the song, you actually dare slow down at some points, letting the music drag your heart through your body. When you do, you're pleasantly surprised when Quinn is able to simply flow along. You keep a close eye on her from aside, your senses heightened to anything that might indicate a change in play. She does the same. You end the song in satisfying harmony.

For a moment, neither of you moves, neither speaks, you're pretty sure neither breathes.

"I didn't know you knew Yann Tiersen."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Indeed you are. Who would have guessed?"

"Well, if any of you had made any attempt to -"

"Don't spoil it."

Her interruption catches you off guard, and you you freeze mid-sentence, your mouth still open when you turn to look at her. With your next breath, realization comes too and you close it, slowly, your brain still in too much of a shock to do it any faster.

She doesn't even look at you. Her eyes are trained to the keys, where her fingers still linger.

"Have you seen the film?"

"Amélie?"

She hums.

"Yes."

You watch a smile spread over her face. You wonder how many foreign films she's seen. She blinks slowly. Words abandon you, and so you merely watch. You watch as her expression seems do dull slightly, how she huffs slightly, her smile renewing itself, how she shakes her head just a little before standing up from the bench. She makes her way toward the edge of the stage. When she reaches it, she squats down, leaning her weight on her right arm as she whirls her legs off the stage, before landing on her feet, her soles making only the dullest of thuds. She walks over to her bag, which is sitting on one of the chairs on the first row, and opens it. When she turns around again, she's holding a lunchbox.

"I brought carrots."

You smile, and somehow, the force of it has you casting down your eyes, your head drooping forward until the stretch in your neck has it bounce once before keeping it in place. Giddy affection nestles in our chest, pushing out all the air, the dragon in your chest cuddling up to it, content. When you look up, you've schooled your features into something less serious, a playful, mocking smile remaining, because what could possibly be any more serious and terrifying than this feeling? This feeling that you want to trust her with your soul?

"Only carrots? I was expecting cupcakes."

She mirrors your smile, and only such a small part of you is disappointed that she doesn't have to actively tell her face to do so that you can almost say it didn't happen. That you aren't disappointed. Almost.

"That was just a one time thing," she says, shrugging nonchalantly while scrunching her nose, "Way too much work."

You plop down on the edge of the stage, your legs dangling off it you narrow your eyes at her playfully. "Liar."

She laughs as well before moving to sit next to you. She hands you the box and poses her hands on the stage. In a fluent motion she settles herself next to you. Instantly, she snatches the box out of your lap, opening it and picking up a baby carrot. She points it at you.

"Liar or not, you'll have to deal with the carrots today, Berry."

You swiftly take the carrot from her, reveling in the sight when her eyes widen and her eyebrows rocket up in surprise. Lifting a faux disappointed eyebrow at her you lay your head on your shoulder and pout at her.

"I thought you'd outgrown the barrier of last names. Such a pity." She rolls her eyes. You smile satisfied and sit up again, eyeing the tiny carrot you're holding between your thumb and index finger. "Next time?"

Her eyes lock on yours again. She steals your carrot.

"Maybe."

You want to kiss her.

* * *

The rest of your days at school happen fairly uneventful. Quinn spent the rest of your hour together talking about Yann Tiersen and Amélie Poulain, and you mostly listened. You were intrigued by her honest interest in them, and her excitement is infectious, and before you knew it, you felt like you're just as big of an admirer as she, even though you'd only seen the film once. You'd thought it was interesting, but you couldn't really find the storyline in all of it, resulting in you finding it beautiful, but not understanding it, and therefore not being able to truly appreciate it.

Naturally, the bell rung all too soon, and you both made your way to your separate classes. You stumbled across Finn on your way there, but neither of you felt the need to linger. You stopped for a second, and he asked you if you were going to Pucks party, which struck you as odd, because it'd been almost a week since the party was announced, and you are pretty sure you've had this conversation already. But then again this is Finn, and you can't really blame him for the fact that his brain tends to abandon him, so you smiled and told him you're going.

He smiled back at you and asked you if you had a date yet. This made you frown, as you'd simply assumed that he would be it, seeing that you're in a relationship. But before he could pick it up, you wiped the frown from your face and replaced it with a mild smile, telling him no. He grinned at that, and then made sure to formally (and rather awkward at that) ask you if you would be his date. And as would be expected, you beamed at him and told him you'd love to.

That was when Finn was pulled out of his conversation with you because someone bumped against him in the chaos. He looked around himself rather bewildered before finding you again. Truly, to you it seemed like he had to actually _find_ you.

You didn't get a chance to linger on this thought, because he swiftly bent down to kiss you softly and apologized for the fact that he had to go to class. You smile at him and gently push him toward the direction you know he's supposed to go, telling him it's okay, and you'd better be going as well. He winked at you and then he was gone.

Today nothing's happened.

You're walking toward your car, ipod plugged in, Yann Tiersen in your ears.

What, she was infectious.

When you turn to your left to unlock your car you catch movement you couldn't previously see, and you look up to see what it is. You've read somewhere that people's sense of movement is to this day the most developed sense, because it was the most important one when they still had to hunt. Sensing movement could both help with finding prey and detecting threats. Even from the corner of their eyes, humans can still see movement, even though colours are no longer recognizable. You linger on this thought, finding it strange that we can see movement, even though we can't exactly _see_ anything move, because we can't quite _see_ in those areas.

A frustrated voice jerks you from your thoughts, and you look up to find Santana and Brittany walking toward a car, you suppose it's Santana's, but you have no real foundation for that assumption.

You're about to continue unlocking your car when you notice Santana's looking at you. Startling, you pull out your headphones and give her your attention once again. She's got one brow quirked, impatient.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" you ask her timidly, "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that."

She rolls her eyes before shifting her weight to her other leg, hand now coming to rest on her hip. You don't like that pose. You know she's more than what she tries to convey she is.

"Sunday study session has been canceled."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know," she tells you, "Hell, if I ever know what's going on in that weird little blond head of hers I might just swear off having sex."

Both your and Brittany's eyes widen in reaction to that comment, but before you can say something about it, Brittany's piped up, "What? Why would you do that? You like it way too much to give it up just like that."

She turns to face you. "You know I know, because I can tell she really likes it when I do this thing, I-"

But she's cut off by Santana, still standing in the same position, but one hand firmly clasped over Brittany's mouth, the other on her hip, her head low. You can tell she's blushing furiously, though she's bravely trying to hide it.

"Yeah, let's not finish that sentence, shall we?" Santana speaks up, still not lifting her head, "Anyway, I don't know why she cancelled it, but I'm sure she has her reasons. You won't catch me questioning anything she does. I've tried that once, and once was enough."

She does look up now. "I just wanted to let you know."

You smile at her. "Thank you, Santana." You're almost sure you see her smile back. She's released Brittany, who, with a look between the two of you subtly retreats to the background before getting into the car.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you'll owe me a favor, Berry."

"I'm sure we'll be able to work something out we're both content with."

"You know that sounded extremely sexual right."

"I do now, thank you for pointing that out, but I can honestly tell you that was not my intention."

"Yeah, well, it still sucks."

You frown, not understanding. "What, the sexual innuendos? I though those were your thing."

"No, they are, they are, but I meant the canceling."

You slowly lift your head, all the time drawing out the 'oh' on your lips. When your chin reaches its normal height again, you say "Why?"

"Well," she stops to look around quickly, before lowering her head and leveling you with a 'I am most certainly _not_ fucking around when I say this' look, "If you tell this to anyone I will deny everything, but I actually kind of like our little meetings together. You make good brownies, and you don't look at Brittany like she's an idiot." You smile at this and tilt your head. She rolls her eyes at you, but can't stop her smile this time. She casts a glance toward the car where Brittany is sitting quietly.

"It's for her as well."

You remain silent.

"We - she needs those meetings. They're when we get everything done. I don't know what it is, the atmosphere there, the house itself, Quinn, _you_, but those sessions are what make that she keeps up with her work. Not that she doesn't do it, because she does, but the quality is just so much better then, and I feel like she actually _really_ learns then."

When she looks back at you, you're smiling at her, your face knowing. She huffs exasperatedly and rolls her eyes even more so.

"Aww," you coo, "You do care."

"Oh, get in your toy car and drive home, hobbit."

And you do, but not after laughing soundly and seeing Santana try to hide her smile by walking away.

Saturday is even less eventful. You get up at eight, get on your elliptical, shower, go down to have breakfast with your dads and then go up again to make your homework. At five, you've finished that as well, and you decide you deserve some time off, setting up Funny Girl. You will never grow over that movie. Not ever.

When you hoist yourself into bed that night you feel tired, but content, not in the way that drains your body. Like those times it feels like climbing everest just to lift your arm or roll over. Your muscles are tired and warm, telling you that you did a good workout this morning, and you feel the satisfying ache start up in your muscles. You can't ever help yourself but to occasionally tense the sore muscles, feeling every time again the satisfaction it brings you. This content feeling is the one you fall asleep with.

The one you wake with is something completely different.

It feels like there's something poking in your face. Though there's nothing actually poking, there is something urging you to wake up, and it feels like something is poking you in the face. You scrunch it up, and a soft sound filters through. A sound familiar to you, yet you couldn't place it if your life depended on it.

_R.c. ..l, …wa…e .. up._

Ah, words. Words are good, you can work with words. You focus on them, trying to make out what they are.

_Wake up. Come on, wake up, Rachel._

Wait, what?

"Rachel, wake up. Wake up, Rachel, come on."

No.

This is not okay.

What time is it?

But as you open your eyes you appear to have forgotten that there was in fact someone talking to you, so when you see a silhouette perched on the edge of your bed you are so stunned that you forget to even scream or push them away, your eyes just widen unusually far and you try to melt into your bed as well as you can.

Upon seeing your eyes open, the silhouette on your bed leans back.

"Ah, you're awake. Good." It then gets up and walks to your closet, seemingly completely at home. Then the lightbulb is switched on.

"_You!_" you screech, "How on earth did you get in here?" Quinn winces at your volume and as soon as you're done throws you a bunch of clothes, effectively shutting you up.

"Pipe down, will you. Your parents are still asleep in here, remember? And of course it's me, who else did you expect? Jacob?" The moment the names leaves her mouthy see her freeze and you lock eyes for a few seconds as you share the horror you're both experiencing merely _thinking_ about it.

"Yeah, about that, you should probably _really_ lock your window."

Your head twitches aggressively the way it does when you hear something so absurd it can't possibly be true, yet you're absolutely certain you heard it right. In a flash your eyes are on the window, which is, indeed, open. "_You came in th-_" Pof. A pillow hits you this time. You peel it away and glare at her, but lower your voice like she indicated you should. "You came in through the _window?_" you stage whisper across the room.

Quinn just shrugs. "Yeah. I did."

"Are you insane? You could have fallen- how did you even get up here?"

"I'm fine! It was easy. On the garage, in the tree, on the roof, through the window. Easy peasy. Now get your butt dressed, we have places to be."

Grumbling you throw aside your blankets and start looking through the clothes Quinn threw at you. But then you remember. "Wait, we do?"

"Do what?"

"Have places to be."

A grin spreads over her face. "Yeah, we do." She quietly opens the door and peeks outside. For a few seconds she remains completely still, then she looks to you again. "I'm gonna get a bagel or whatever you have downstairs. When I get upstairs I need you to be done, okay? I swear I will throw things at you again if you aren't."

You sit upright immediately, alarm bells going off everywhere inside your head. "No, Quinn, wait. Don't-" but she's already gone, door left open a crack. You sink back down, restlessness swirling in your stomach. Your parents' room is right next to the stairs, going down for 'a bagel or whatever' at - you glance at the clock - 5:10 in a house you're not supposed to be in at an hour like this is really just a very ballsy move you can't really use right now.

You debate going after her to call her back, but eventually decide it could only make things worse. The only thing you can do right now is wait and hope for her safe return. So instead you just throw on whatever she threw at you before and look at it after you're done fixing your face as well. It's not even so bad. It's actually pretty nice. Just a simple brown skinny jeans (Kurt insisted) and a broad-striped black and white sweater with a wide, but shallow neck, just showing your collarbones. It's cute, but you really have to get used to the feel of jeans. You've been wearing mainly leggings, tights, those kind of things, for years, so it feels a bit foreign, but the jeans fit you well and they compliment your legs, so really, you think you'll manage.

"Oh, good, you're done." You swivel around to see Quinn had reappeared in the doorway, bagel in hand. She's smiling, an easy, relaxed smile, like this is something you do every day, and it throws you off because as you think it, you realise that is _does _feel like something you do every day. But you're pulled out of your thoughts when Quinn's eyes flit to the clock and see the time. Her smile slides off her face and is replaced by a bit of a frown.

"Come on. We have to go, or we won't make it." She beckons you with a pul of her head to follow her. When you're halfway across the room, she says, "Wait." and walks to your window to properly close it.

"Don't want Jewfro coming to pay a visit, now, do we?" She winks at you and you manage to smile back, because honestly, it just hurts. It hurts how sweet she is, how easy things are with her, because when she does things like this, it takes every once of willpower you have to not walk over and just kiss her. Just kiss her. A simple, chaste kiss, and then turn back and continue what you were doing. Just to let her know you love her dearly. But you can't. You won't allow yourself and though you know it's the right thing to do, it's eating you from the inside out.

So you smile at her and she smiles back and she stitches you up just as much as she tears you open and so you know you'll be fine. Because she balances you out.

Hand wrapped loosely around your lower arm she guides you out the door. She does not use any force whatsoever, because she knows you will follow. Just like you know she will lead you through whatever may be. Even if it is inside your own house. Subconsciously, you both press yourself up agains the railing when passing your fathers' bedroom door. Downstairs, Quinn waits patiently for you to put on your shoes and coat. Or at least she tries to, but she fails to keep herself from checking her watch several times while you're deliberately taking your time with your shoes.

You smile to yourself, knowing that you're being meaner than the situation is asking for, but you can't help yourself when it comes to teasing Quinn. After you've grabbed your coat, you move into the hall where there is more space to put it on.

"You look really good."

The quiet comment startles you and you freeze in the middle of swinging your coat behind you to shrug it on, resulting in the coat merely being swung behind your back. With the rustling of fabric gone, it's suddenly very quiet. Do don't even last a second.

"Thank you," you say, while you continue with shrugging on your coat, it landing in a fluent motion on your shoulders. You hide behind your bangs. "That means a lot, coming from you." When you dare look after you've finished buttoning up, Quinn is staring at her shoes, a regretful smile on her lips. She rips open your chest from the collarbone down. You move forward and search for her eyes. They find yours uncertainly.

"Hey," you say, "You are great." You jab a finger on her chest for emphasis. She places her hand over yours and pulls it from her chest. She gives you a new lung and stitches you up flawlessly.

You stand for a moment, the silence serene. Then, slowly, you see the mischief and giddy excitement return to her face. She quickly checks her watch. "Come on, let's go. We haven't much time." She pulls you out of the house by your linked hands.

Her giddiness is infectious, and before you reach her car you find yourself ready to giggle. You break contact at the car, and though you knew it had been coming, your heart aches and your hand twitches hem she lets go of it.

Quinn opens the door and is halfway inside the car when she sees you standing in front of the hood. "Get in, we've got to go!" Her voice is energetic and playful and it's enough to get you out of your stupor.

Everything is desolate. There are no other cars, no cyclists, no pedestrians outside. All the curtains are closed. It's like you're the only two people in the world. It's beautiful, in a way, but you suppose that's probably only because you know it's just too early for anyone to be up yet. You've been with finn long enough to have a fairly good idea of that if you actually _were_ the only ones here, this pleasant quiet would be pressing. Like a cage even. Somehow, if someplace is truly lifeless, you can see it. No, you can't really see it, because everything pretty much looks the same. You can _feel_ it. You can feel the absence of life. Just like you can now somehow feel the peaceful slumber most people are in now. It calms every fiber of your being, which is odd, because you also feel your giddiness jump around inside your torso like a bouncing ball full of confetti.

There is music in the car. Upbeat music. You caught some of the lyrics. It goes _'I'm gonna drive by, so come outside and we'll go. Taking the five down, to a new town, you should roll. We could be crazy to leave on our own. But it doesn't faze me, just wait and see the show.'_ Intrigued by it, you look sideways, where Quinn is slightly bobbing her head to the beat and mouthing along.

"Was this intentional?" you speak up again.

She glances at you. "What? The song? Of course it was intentional." Her grin has grown, so large, part of it is now visible on your face as well. "I would sing along, but I feel it would disrupt the peace and quiet." Another glance your way. "You know what I mean."

You do. Intimately.

You let the music be the only thing to cut through the silence for a moment. Your eyes roam the car. It hits you that this is only the second time you've been in here. You remember charms. Charms dangling from the rearview mirror. They are still there.

You lift a hand to touch them. They wrestle with each other for a moment, then hang motionless again. You still don't know what the second charm is. With your index finger you pull it away from the cheerios' logo, balancing it on the pad before letting it gravitate back.

It's a simple white charm, something like an arrow upside down, but merged with an electrical plug. When you flip it around, there's a little logo of a green house, built from differently sized and shaped blocks, the letters HS underneath. You feel Quinn's eyes on you.

"I've been wondering about this charm," you tell her, "I remember it from the last time I was in your car. I've been meaning to ask you about it." You watch as her smile softens.

"Brittany gave it to me," she says, "Half a year ago, I think. She'd found it online, and she said it reminded her of a dog. When she gave it to me, she told me it was so that I wouldn't have to feel lonely anymore, because he'd be here to keep me company." You look back at the charm and smile. You suppose if you try a little, you can see the dog in it, once you've heard it.

"Anyway," Quinn continues, "So when I came home that day, I did some research. Apparently it's based on this online thing called Homestuck. It's a bit like a story, I believe they call it a web comic, and, believe it or not, the little fellow actually _is_ a dog. Brittany has good eyes. I tried reading Homestuck, but it didn't really work for me. They do have really good music though. Wait." She takes the ipod from its stand and tries to find a song on it while driving. You start in your seat.

"No, Quinn, you shouldn't! That's really dangerous! Let me." she chuckles a bit, and you believe she's mocking you, so you shoot her a friendly glare. She places the player in your eager and urging hands with a small huff.

"Search for _Sarabande_. And then plug it in."

You roll your eyes. "Yes, miss." But you do as you're told. A sole piano fills the car. The intro reminds you a little of Satie, and you tell her so. She laughs and says she had been thinking the same thing.

The music is light, calming, and you let it fill in your lungs, feeling your heart lift with every breath. Every time it touches back down it feels lighter, emptier, but also heavier in some way. Your eyes un-focus as you look outside to the still world, but they do not see. You merely feel. The car coming to a stop. Your eyes refocus on Quinn's face, smiling, yet not really. A soft face.

"I told you they had good music."

You semi-smile back at her. "They do."

She lets the song finish. It reminds you of winter.

"Come on," she says, "It's almost time."

You get outside, the sharp morning air filling your lungs, your breath just slightly visible. Winter is still here. Sarabande echoes in your mind.

Quinn appears in front of the hood. "Don't just stand there, come on!" She smiles. She's excited. She calls you with her head. You come.

For the first time since you've arrived, you look around you and see where she's brought you. It's a park. Or something. You've never been here before. Quinn leads you through the entrance onto the path. The sky is a metallic colour, shedding just enough light for you to see where you're going. But you don't really need to see where you're setting your feet. You have Quinn.

She leads you through the park. For five minutes you follow the paths, and you're pretty sure you're far in the back of the park. Then Quinn stops still. She looks to her right, to her left, and to her right again before checking over her shoulder if you're still there. You are. She smiles, and her eyes sparkle in the pale light, seemingly unaffected by its paleness.

"Follow me."

And then she's off the path, into the woods.

You scramble to follow. "Quinn! Quinn, stop walking for a moment, where are we going? Where are you taking me?" In front of you, Quinn is merrily hopping downhill.

"My place."

You falter for a second. "Your place?"

Your feet thump rhythmically against the soil.

"Yeah."

She leaves little clouds of breath behind for you to follow.

"I don't understand."

Your heart beats next to your ears, you breath loud.

"I know."

The old leaves crunch under your feet from the cold.

"Then why are you taking me?"

A new sound filters through.

"Because," water, "I want to."

She stops walking. You come to a halt two meters behind her. She whirls around to look at you.

"This is my place."

It's nothing much. A spot next to a stream of water, a small river, ten feet wide maybe, possibly not even. The ground here is not steep, but you can definitely feel you're on a bit of a slope. On the other side of the stream, the ground moves up again, creating a natural symmetry. Above you, you can see the stars against a pale sky, fighting to stay visible against the sun threatening to hide them behind a blanket of light.

Quinn stands next to you. "A little amazing, isn't it?" You hum your consent.

She disappears from your sight. Rustling comes from the direction where you suppose she is. "Come sit."

"What?" you turn around, frowning, to find her having pulled a thick blanket from a backpack you didn't notice.

"Come. Sit. Lie for my part. Watch with me." she pats the space next to her. You sit, she lies. You look down at her, but she's not paying attention to you. She's looking at the sky.

You recline back to join her. As soon as your head hits the blanket you see what she means. Lying on the subtle slope, your line of sight is lead naturally to the horizon, just over the top of the trees, where the sun is starting to come up. If you lift your eyes to above the horizon, you can still see the night sky, but with a paler background. Though the stars are starting to fade, at this moment, they're still very visible.

In a way, it's cliche, but then again, the fact that such a thing actually exists fills you with wonder and amazement.

"You know most of the stars we see aren't even stars, but whole galaxies? Like the Milky way? But so far away we can only perceive them as little specks of light. And if it's a star, chances are that the star we're seeing has long died, and we are merely seeing its light, light it has sent out thousands of years ago, that has taken up to now to reach us?"

You smile at Quinn's little geek out.

"I did actually know that."

"Do you also comprehend, acknowledge, the fact that that dead star, when dying, scattered its atoms across the universe, atoms which you and I are ultimately built of?" You let your head fall to the side, meeting Quinn's gaze. You feel no need to speak whatsoever. You just look at her, her eyes alive, something else on the tip of her tongue. Her lips part, she takes a breath. You wait.

"You are," she says, her voice little more than a whisper, "quite literally, made of stars."

You knew this. But the way she says it, the intense way you cal feel her words right now, with the two of you lying on a blanket in the woods under the fading night sky, it's like she's opened a little door in the wall of your heart, and you can feel your soul pouring out. Your eyes close on their own accord. Your chin drops to your shoulder. In an attempt to regain control you aim your face at the sky again before opening your eyes.

"Wouldn't your church have a lot to say about all those thoughts?" It's a stupid thing to say, but you need her to stop looking at you. You need her focus, what focus whatsoever, elsewhere.

"They probably would. But I do not believe my faith has anything to do with that aspect of life. I believe my faith is not for telling people how things are, it is to be there for everyone, because everyone is God's, and therefore beautiful. He does not preach of sin and its consequences, He preaches of acceptance, love and forgiveness, and He will love very one of us for who we are, _because_ of who we are."

You blink slowly a few times. A couple of beats pass. A star you had been watching disappears behind the sun's rays.

"That was deep."

"I am a very deep person."

"I have come to notice that."

Another beat.

"You should take more credit for it."

"No one cares. Humanity has become shallow. Why waste my energy on something that is doomed to begin with?"

You move. Your upper arm aligns with Quinn's. You can't say it wasn't intentional. When you look at her, she is still watching the sky.

"Because everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves different."

She scoffs and blinks lazily.

"They wouldn't return the favor."

Your eyes squint at what she could be talking about.

"You mean they would judge?"

"They do."

"What would they judge?"

"Everything out of the ordinary. Anything extraordinary."

You take your eyes off her.

"That's troublesome."

"It is."

"So what do we do about it?"

"We protect it."

"The extraordinary?"

"The extraordinary."

You smile. "Okay." You let your eyes droop closed again. "We'll protect the extraordinary."

* * *

**A/N: So... was it any good? God I hope so, I rewrote the final part possibly ten times, because it had to _feel_ right, you know? It was a bitch. But please, feel free to tell me... well, anything that comes to mind, really.**

**I will make no promises about when a next chapter will appear, I will however promise that there _will_ be a next chapter. **

**Until then! Have a good one. ^^**


	18. Succumb

**A/N: Oh my god, I actually finished it. It is 1:53 am right now and I am just going to put this here and leave for a couple or days because _God_ that was horrible to write. I used no real music I feel I need to share with you in this chapter, but I will tell you that I wrote the first part with _Raein_ (watch?v=5fwFTdVhqx4), and the final part with W.D.Y.W.F.M. (watch?v=AzVJ6gSfnC4) on repeat. I would recommend it for the sake of it giving the feel I wanted it to have in the first place.**

**Oh and before people start questioning it, I have actually played this drinking game and it is hilarious. You should most definitely try it.**

******ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO STRAWBERRYMACCHIATO! So I told you I'd make it something of a birthday present, so there you go! I hope you enjoy it ^^'**

* * *

**18. Succumb**

.

She's asleep. You think.

After discussing protecting the extraordinary at school both of you had fallen silent. It had stayed that way for a while, you don't know how long. Lying on a blanket next to a little stream while the stars are slowly wrapped in a blanket of sunlight tends to do that to one's perception of time. When you opened your eyes again, the horizon was already starting to turn yellow, announcing the sun's actual arrival. You had sighed, filling your lungs with the chilly early spring air. To your left, Quinn had stirred. When you looked sideways, you found her slightly curled up on her right side, her left hand tucked in the bend of her other arm.

In your mind, a lone piano plays L'Origine Nascosta as the birds start waking up. Though you know most people would frown at you, you don't feel anything but serene just watching her sleep. You wonder how you got to be this person, the one to take to a secret place in the woods, the one to see her in her moments of content. The answer doesn't come to you.

Instead, she stirs. And opens her eyes.

She finds you, eyes lazily traveling up to come and rest on your face. You regard each other, neither smiling. Your dragon gnaws at its chains and claws at your ribs. Your throat constricts. Your fist tightens around the blanket. What it doesn't take to keep you from reaching for her. From kissing her.

In an act of mercy she closes her eyes. She curls up on herself a bit more, and you can see her muscles trembling with her little stretch. It's the strangest stretch you've ever seen and it makes you smile. After uncurling she sits up, puffing out her chest before speaking.

"How long was I asleep?" She looks at the horizon, probably assessing how much time has passed. You follow her gaze, and see the tips of the trees turn golden in the sun's rays. The colour reminds you of her hair.

"I don't know," you answer her truthfully.

She doesn't reply. So you ask her a question of your own instead.

"Why did you bring me here?"

A beat. She blinks.

Her mouth opens as she sucks in a breath and you wait. But nothing comes out. The breath is released in silver dew surrounding her face. You cast down your eyes, disappointed in yourself for being disappointed in her lack of answer.

"Did you know that I used to sail?"

Your eyes shoot back up. You didn't, and she interprets your silence as exactly that. "Yeah, Russell bought a little ship once. We used to go there on hot days in the summer when I was small. He would teach me about the wind and the sails while my mother would lie on deck, reading a book." She smiles. "Those are the best memories I have of him. When the sun set, he would pull out a little portable barbecue, which we could fasten to the railing, and we would eat out on the water. Only when the sun really started to go down would he steer us back to the harbor."

Her face turns nostalgic, melancholic, even. You gaze at her, your mind mapping every shape that appears on her face. "When I got my driving license, my parents didn't give me my car, I got that from my grandparents. Instead, my father gave me a key to the boat. He told me that with all my years of experience, he'd grown to believe that he was excessive in having to watch me, and so he and my mother had made me a second key.

"I would go there as soon as I had time. Sometimes I wouldn't even get it out of its box, and just tend to it. Other times I thew out the anchor in the middle of the lake and just… be. I was so at peace there. Like I had my own little place where I could turn to whenever I wanted. Somewhere away from the responsibilities, the expectations people had of me. It became my second home.

"When my father left, he took the key with him."

She turns to smile at you. "This is my place now."

You don't smile back at her. Instead, she finds your eyes swimming with tears. She reaches for your cheek. You swiftly shy away from her, averting your eyes and turning your head. You can't be the weak one now, so you sink your teeth in your lower lip to keep your tears from spilling over.

"Don't feel sorry for me," she says, and you break. One hand clasps over your mouth, before they both start wiping furiously at your cheeks. You turn to face her again, your eyes blazing with a new passion.

"_How_ can you be so okay with that? _How_ can you ask me not to feel like this? What he did to you was _despicable_, and yet, you just _sit here_. _How?_" Your voice quivers with pent up anger.

She reaches for you again, and this time you actually smack away her hand. But she doesn't look angry or even offended. She just smiles at you.

"Because he taught me to be thankful for what I have while I have it."

You gape at her, your eyes large. Tears halfway past your cheek have dried up and they feel cold against the glowing warmth of your skin. The sensation makes it feel like they have frozen your face in place.

_I love you._

It's on the tip of your tongue. Partially because you want her to know, but mostly because there is nothing else you can think of that can be said right now. But you stay quiet as you feel the earth crumble beneath you, your insides falling out underneath you like you're a ghost, no longer of any matter, and thus remaining where you are.

She basks in a golden halo.

* * *

Something is different. You don't know how you even came to that conclusion, but whenever you lay eyes on her, a bottomless sensation occurs in your chest, quickly hollowing out the rest of your torso. While she acts no different, mainly talking and sometimes laughing with other cheerios, sending you the occasional twitch of the lips whenever her eyes find yours, you notice more. The way she seems to slightly dip her head as she grins at you, the fact that when she turns her attention away from you her eyes linger while her head is already turning the other way, how, when her head turns, her collarbones turn more defined.

You avert your eyes, choosing to lock them on the corner of your table instead while giving your head a tiny jerk to hopefully rid yourself of these strange new sensations. Finn, sitting next to you, gently touches you knee with his, asking for your attention. Grateful for the distraction, you give it to him.

"Have you thought about how late you want me to pick you up on Friday?"

Ah yes, Friday. The party everyone is talking about. You'd almost forgotten. Almost. It has proved difficult with it being the sole thing any student talks about this week.

But, to get back to Finn, you wreck your brain trying to come up with a suitable time to go to a party like this. Seeing as you have no experience when it comes to things like this, you're embarrassed to admit that you have no idea what time you should arrive. Not that that means that he gets to see it.

You shake your head at him. "No, I haven't. Maybe you could just stay for dinner, and we'll just go whenever we're ready?"

He laughs breathily at that, once, short, before frowning at you in a joking manner, as if what you just said was so illogical it became funny. You look back at him, your face questioning. What?

"Rach, I can't do that," he tells you as he turns to face you in his seat more fully, "It'll take away the surprise." He lifts his hand to your cheek, softly brushing away a strand of hair that didn't really need brushing away. "Why can't we treat this like… prom or something?"

Your eyebrows raise at that. Prom? This party? That's a comparison you never would've thought of. Finn catches your question.

"We set a time, I come pick you up, so that when you open the door, you get to take my breath away." He smiles at you and you blush, because really, how can you not? His hand has traced down the strand it had brushed away before and is now lightly touching the end of a lock that's dangling from your shoulder. He bends down so he can catch your eye.

"What do you say?"

You press your lips together in an adoring smile. "I'd love to," you tell him.

He sits back in his chair, satisfied with how the conversation had gone. "So, about the time. How about I pick you up at 9? That way we won't be early, nor late, so we don't draw any attention we don't want."

Your left eye twitches for a reason unknown to you.

"That sounds lovely, Finn."

He smiles a crooked smile, nods once and turns away from you. Your eyes, sensing movement, shoot to someplace over his shoulder and connect with hazel. She looks at you for a second, then flits to Finn, lingering for a moment, seemingly in thought. When she connects again, she swiftly raises an eyebrow and drops it again, before pouts a little while pulling the corners of her mouth down, smiling at you.

During your maths class that day you plop down next to her without a word. She doesn't even lift her eyes to acknowledge you, but you can see from the way she mashes her lips between her teeth in an attempt to suppress her smile that she has noticed you plenty.

For a moment the both of you sit in silence, the giddy energy radiating from the blonde beside you settling under your breastbone. You stretch your neck a bit, making a subtle scene before neatly placing your books on the of the table. Sitting up straight and staring straight ahead, you fold your hands in front of you on the table. You see her take notice from the corner of her eyes.

She mimics your position. You're infecting each other with nervous giddiness. It's starting to get harder to keep your stoic face and the urge to bounce your leg is almost too much to resist.

"I couldn't help but notice you're looking forward to this Friday?"

_Oh, praise the lord, saved by the bell. You can do this Rachel. You are a star. Act._

"Oh, I am," you tell her airily, accompanying it with a tilt of the head. Your eyes do not leave the entrance to the classroom. "I take it you'll be going as well then?"

You can see her struggle. As a countermeasure you take the inside of your cheek hostage between your teeth. Why is this so funny? Why do you get the urge to keep this up until either one of you breaks? You have no idea.

"Of course I'm going Rachel. What else did you expect?"

"Oh, nothing less, trust me."

"Though I must admit to not having as gallant a date as you do."

The cheek is not enough. Your lip turns into your next victim until you feel the anti gravity in your chest has worn off enough for you to function properly. You decide to play along.

"Naturally. No-one could ever hope to compare to the ever graceful Finn Hudson of course." Though a small part of you feels bad for ridiculing him like this, it's nullified by the sound of Quinn barely keeping her cool and the sight of her dropping her head as she works to get hold of the reins again. Success. A little smirk makes its way up your lips.

From your peripheral vision you see her sit up again. You resist the urge to actually cast your eyes on her. She does not do the same, and you can feel her attention itch on the skin on the back of your neck.

Quinn eyes you for a few seconds, before leaning forward to lean her elbows on the table and fold her arms in front of her.

"You haven't been to one of Puck's party's before, have you?"

Her voice has grown soft, questioning something you both know the answer to, but still trying to be subtle about it. It feels slightly detached, like she's merely stating a fact, but you know that's just her way of cutting to the chase on a subject no-one is really looking forward to discussing.

"Yes."

"But I suppose you have a general idea of what goes down?"

"I think I do. I dare actually say I have a pretty accurate idea."

"And you still want to go." She doesn't use a question mark. You wonder why.

"I do."

"There'll be alcohol." Her statement contains an echo of a smile. The final people sit down in their chairs.

"I can handle it."

"Sex in every room. Drunk people fighting. Music so loud it can damage your hearing."

Your jaw sets at her last statement. "I can handle it."

"A lot of alcohol."

An exasperated sensation explodes in your lungs and has you rolling your eyes before leveling her with an _are-you-serious-right-now_ look. "I can _handle it._"

Her eyes sparkle back at you, amber shining with mirth. Voices in the background seize to exist abruptly. You raise your eyes to the entrance to the room, landing on the teacher closing the door. Rustling next to you tells you Quinn has sat up again. When the teacher has finished checking the absentees you feel something sharp poke you in the arm. Shooting Quinn a curious glance you take the piece of paper from her. She ignores you completely.

_'I won't forgive you if you stand me up.'_

As if you ever would.

* * *

Kurt is lying on your bed, resting his head on his folded hand as he watches you stand in front of your mirror. With a slightly panicked look in your eyes you swivel around.

"I don't think I can do this," you blurt and you walk a couple of steps toward him.

He almost rolls his eyes. "Rachel, sweetie, stop fussing around. You look beautiful. I know it, you know it, your fathers know it and soon Finn will know it too, now _please _go get your hair done because it's almost nine already. Finn will come pick us up soon."

Hopping on one leg to take off your remaining heel you make your way to your bathroom. Once in front of the mirror you stare at your reflection. Kurt watches you with a raised eyebrow from the bed.

"Kurt -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do your hair." Not a moment later his reflection appears next to yours and you smile at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry for being so unbearable tonight."

He waves his hand around, dismissing your apology. "Don't worry about it," he chimes, moving to grab a brush and some products. Once he has them he points the brush at your reflection. "You'll owe me a favor though."

You smile at him and he shoots you a wink before starting his work on your hairdo. Your eyes stay latched on his reflection.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?" His eyes flicker to the mirror, but he mainly keeps doing what he is.

"Thank you for helping me out."

He now meets your gaze fully and after a beat a gentle smile spreads over his lips. "It's my pleasure."

As he works on your hair, and afterward your make up as well (the man simply couldn't help himself) the nervousness inside you dulls until it's little more than a small stirring in your stomach. When he finishes and takes a step back to look at his creation he seems very pleased with himself. Looking to your reflection yourself you can't say you blame him. Your hair flows over your shoulders in easy curls and a smoky look accentuates the chocolate in your eyes.

"Want to admire the total picture?" Kurt is standing in the door opening, holding up your heels while leaning against the doorframe. With renewed confidence you take the heels from him as you move past him. Holding yourself up against the board of your bed you put them on before turning to face yourself in the mirror.

The image that meets your eye is pleasing to say the least. As you take in the sight you became there's only one word that you feel describes you. Hot. Not classy or sophisticated or anything else you're used to looking. You look hot. And it's a strangely comforting thing to know. Kurt appears behind you, his hands clasped together behind his back. Your reflections lock eyes and you both smirk. He did good.

And then the deep voice of your papa jerks you out of the moment.

"Rachel, your date is here!"

Kurt is gone instantly and in the bathroom doing final touch ups to his hair, just in case. You take a deep breath and have a final look at your image. Turning your shoulders and taking in the low cut back you try to drink as much confidence from it as you can before standing up straight again, smoothing down the creases and nodding to your reflection with finality.

Then you move toward the door.

"I'll be going down before you," you call over your shoulder, "Don't take too long!"

"I'll be down in a minute!"

You don't close the door behind you.

With every step you take down the stairs you feel your confidence grow. You look great. You will be the talk of the evening. You can most definitely do this. The way Finn's smile slides from his face when he sees you coming down the stairs only confirms this. He looks like he's seconds away from chanting mailman.

"Hi Finn," you chime, and you walk over to him to press your lips to his swiftly. Smiling to yourself at his dazed expression you move to get your coat. You can just see him shake his head and blink a couple of times.

"Yeah, hi Rach," he then finally manages to greet you. "You-" his eyes flit to you nervously and then quickly dart away again. You think you see him swallow "-you look really great."

You turn to face him fully, a radiant smile on your lips. "Why, thank you!"

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, almost, we'll be ready in just a minute." You glance up the staircase. Kurt's taking longer than expected again. Finn nods absentmindedly, practically looking everywhere but at you. You smirk at this. Then you see something click in his eyes. He shakes his head confusedly and this time actually looks at you.

"Wait, _we_? What do you mean, we?"

"Rachel, please tell you you did tell him I was riding along." Kurt appears at the end of the staircase, looking at you with a judging raised brow already. You frown, first at Kurt, then at Finn, and then to yourself. You told him, right? But when you look at Finn's confused face again you know you didn't.

You raise your shoulders and tuck your head between them, looking up at Kurt apologetically. He merely rolls his eyes at you good-naturedly.

"You really forgot to tell him? He's your date Rachel, shouldn't there be more conversation going on between the two of you on occasions like this?"

There should. There definitely should be more conversation between you in general. Not only on occasions like this. But you choose not to linger on this, though the comment makes you shift into your defensive position.

"You're his brother now, couldn't you have told him? You two even live together!"

His eyes narrow at you, and you can see him think of a witty comeback. But it stays out. Instead, he inclines his head in defeat.

"You make a valid point." He then turns to Finn. "Anyway, I don't suppose this will be a problem, now, will it? There's plenty of room in the back, I'm sure."

The way Finn glares at him and then looks at his shoes tells you there is. It also tells you he isn't happy with the fact that Kurt is tagging along. You walk toward him and place your hand on his arm.

"Look at the bright side of it," you softly tell him, "You have to bring him home anyway. It'll spare you a drive there and back." Finn ponders this for a moment. Then his eyes turn bright and he looks at you with a smile.

"Yeah, you're right. Come on, let's go."

You thank god he's gullible. When you open the front door your fathers appear in the hallway. You show them your phone upon seeing them and Hiram gives you a thumbs up. Leroy tells you to have fun and be safe. Hiram quickly adds not to do anything crazy. You give them your word.

The drive to Puck's house is rather silent. Finn isn't exactly subtle in his being caught off guard by Kurt's prompt to tag along. The streets are quiet; everyone is either having a late dinner or is already done eating and now sitting in front of the television. You can tell when you're getting closer to Puck's though. The music coming from there reaches you when you're probably little less than a mile away.

The amount of cars parked intensifies and once Finn pulls over you're already amazed by the amount of red cups on the pavement. When you're outside the door the music already feels a bit too loud. You also have to say it isn't the music you'd expected. Instead of the commonly used popular music you hear something that sounds an awful lot like rock. But sometimes the singer is off key. You're confused.

As soon as Finn lifts his arm to let his presence be known the door swings open to reveal Puck with a cup in his hand and a crown made from take-out packaging on his head. It's amazing, the amount of noise a door can keep out. You manage not to wince and instead beam up at Puck, who is spreading his arms wide, grin spreading on his face. You wonder how many he's had already.

"Finn! My man! Rachel, Kurt! Great to see you all here!" He moves to the side and starts ushering the three of you in, waving his arm in an attempt to make you move faster. "Come in, come in, grab a drink," he instantly throws back his head and yells, "HEY ARTIE, POUR THOSE THREE A DRINK, WILL YOU? Finn, come on man, we're losing this game. We need you bro, come sing with us." Finn nods and promises to come help them out with whatever it is they're playing, and Puck smacks him on the shoulder laughing.

His eyes then land on you. He shifts his weight onto one of his legs and folds his arms in front of him. "Damn, Rachel, you look fine tonight," he leans toward you and adds, "You know, if you ever want to get adventurous, I'm here for you." When he throws in an overdone wink you can't help but laugh at him, even though Finn doesn't seem to be appreciating his behavior very much.

Artie comes rolling toward you, a small plate on his lap balancing your drinks. Triumphantly he hands them to you. "New recipe," he winks at you, "The most popular one yet."

Puck hits him on the back. "And not for nothing, man, not for nothing!" He then points his finger at Finn and levels him with a stern glare. "I'll be waiting for you." He says, before moving backwards and disappearing in the crowd behind him.

That's the first time you take a moment to look how many people there are already. The living room has been cleared out, tables lined up against the wall with food and drinks on them, couches indicating the border between the dancing and the lounging area. It's packed, masses moving in rhythm with the music, couches filled and wherever there is room, there are people making out against walls. On the other side of the room, a table is being used for a game of beer pong. You've always been curious how it is to play that game.

In thought, you take a sip from your drink. It's sweet.

For some reason you're surprised and you catch Artie's expecting eyes. "This is delicious!" you tell him, and he beams up at you.

"Told you, it's the most popular one yet!"

"What's in it?"

"Chef's secret!"

He then rolls away from you, and somehow there's something elated about the way he does it. Next to you, Kurt spots Blaine, and he taps your shoulder and points to him to tell you that he's leaving. You wave at him with your free hand and take another sip as you watch him leave. Damn, that drink is really good. You have to ask Artie to teach you how to make it.

When you feel Finn's hand on your arm you turn to listen to him.

"I'm going over to where Puck is, want to come with me?" Seeing as you have no idea where you should go other than with him, you nod and he takes you by the hand and leads you through the ridiculous amount of people in the room. Suddenly, you've made it through, and reach an open spot where people are intensely playing Guitar Hero.

Ah. So that's where the music was coming from.

People that aren't playing are watching and cheering. There is a table next to the tv with an insane amount of drinks on it. Both just cups with what you expect is the same drink you're drinking and shots of clear liquid. When the four people playing finish the song, everyone quiets for a moment before starting to cheer and whoop when the scores are shown. The performers then move to the table, each grab a cup and down it. Your eyes widen at the action.

You grab Finn's attention.

"I don't get it." You watch as the instruments are given to other players. Finn moves behind you and points to explain what is going on.

"You divide yourself into bands every time you play. You can do it with teams, which is what they're doing right now, or just play with the people at hand. When you play in teams, you take turns playing a song, and in the end, the team with the highest score has to drink."

You frown. "The highest score? But that doesn't make any sense. Why would you have to drink if you win?"

He laughs. "That's the point. If you can score well, it means you're not drunk enough. So you drink."

_That's barbaric._

"_FINN!"_ a voice bellows and you look up to see Puck waving a pair of drumsticks. "Sit your ass down there and play with us!" Finn smirks in return and moves to the drum set. You scurry after him.

"But Finn," you start carefully, "You're a pretty good drummer, right?" He nods. "So that means you'll probably win." He nods again. "Then why would you do it?"

"Because it's fun!"

When you open your mouth to protest, you're stopped by a hand on your shoulder. Brittany beams at you and backs you out of the playing circle.

"You should let them play," she says, "It's not as bad as you think and it's really fun."

You watch as Sam and Artie throw on their guitars and Puck takes the mic. They huddle together, discussing something, and then pick a song. You didn't catch the title, but it was hardly necessary to, because before long the iconic first notes of Michael Jackson's Beat It are blasting through the room. Exceeding your expectations, Puck makes a surprisingly good Michael.

You can't help yourself, you down the remains in your cup at once. There's no way they're losing this round against those four you just heard. Finn is going to be so drunk.

Looking sideways, you notice Brittany does not have any problems with the way things are going. Maybe she's staying at Puck's.

"Sup, hobbit! Enjoying yourself?" There she is. You'd been wondering where Santana went. A Brittany without a Santana is the most unnatural thing you ever laid eyes on. She hands Brittany a drink, who in return pecks her on the cheek. You smile at the gesture and then proceed to struggle trying to come up with a good answer for the Latina. You decide to play it safe.

"It's very lively here, I like the atmosphere."

She widens her eyes at you. "It's great, isn't it?" she says, which didn't really add anything to the conversation, but she seems very content with herself. She then looks to the people playing.

"Ooh, Finn is playing, huh? That other team is doomed."

Your jaw sets unwillingly. "He's my ride home."

Both Santana and Brittany stare at you for a second. Then Santana lays her eyes on Finn again. "Well, pardon my French, but you're fucked." Brittany nods animatedly. You sigh.

"I know that." You watch them play for another ten seconds and then decide you need another drink.

* * *

Finn and Brittany were right. This game is so much fun.

After losing another three rounds, the competing team gave up, so Finn, Puck, Artie and Sam were left to themselves to play. That's when the rules changed to what they called 'single player'. This is when you play as a band, and the band member with the highest score has to drink.

Puck had been trying to get you to play all night, and soon, Artie joined in. And then Brittany and Santana and even Mike until you just threw up your hands and yelled "_Okay,_ okay! I'll play!"

And so you played.

You sang. And you won. In fact, you were the sole reason they were able to finish the song, because by now all the guys were _so_ drunk they scored were so low you played the entire song in the danger zone, you being the only one to keep them alive. Everyone praised you, and they cheered for you and when the drink you had to take from your winning joined the ones you had already taken you found yourself not caring anymore.

There's a pleasant warmth in your stomach, radiating from there, making sure even your fingertips get their share. It takes your eyes approximately three times longer to focus on something than usual and when you sit or rise rapidly the world seems to spin a little faster. And yet somehow you manage to stay standing every time. It's not as bad as you thought it would be.

You keep winning. Naturally. Alcohol is no match for your raw talent. No amount of alcohol can jeopardise your ability to sing. At one point, Santana decides to join in, hugging you to her at your waist, and together you sing until your throats are sore. Puck decides to pry the mic from your fingers. Brittany guides the two of you to a couch, where you plop down, still attached to each other in your hug.

"We should look how long we can stay like this," you tell Santana, who in turn gasps and turns to you with big eyes. She lifts a finger and touches it to your nose.

"That, my dearest Frodo, is a great idea. We should definitely do that."

You scrunch up your nose, pulling it away from her finger, and she cackles at you. You want to poke her, but lifting an arm is too difficult. Instead you just stick out your tongue, at which she laughs heartily, and then lay down your head on her shoulder, watching the mass of people move to the beat of the music.

Until you catch a glimpse of gold.

You shoot upright. Quinn. You haven't seen her all night. And she even specifically told you she wouldn't forgive you if you stood her up! But you've been here all along. You turn to Santana, who has already abandoned you and is busy making out with Brittany. So much for your long term hug.

Ignoring the fact that Santana is actually kind of busy, you pull on her sleeve. She whips around, fury in her eyes. You don't care.

"Where is Quinn? She's supposed to be here."

Santana gapes at you for a couple of seconds, apparently needing a little time to comprehend that this is the reason you interrupted her lady kisses for. She closes her eyes to calm herself and then shrugs at you.

"I don't know. Somewhere. We arrived with her, but she kind of disappeared on us."

You stand up. You need to find Quinn.

"I'm going to search for her," you announce, but you don't wait for an answer, you just turn on your heel and disappear into the crowd, moving toward where you saw the golden hair.

The warm buzz has disappeared, there now is a nervous shivering energy you thrive on. Quinn. Where did she go? Why is she not here? Is she avoiding you? Puck crosses your path. You grab him on the back of his shirt and he practically skids to a stop.

"Whaddup Rach?"

"Have you seen Quinn?"

He frowns at you. "Quinn? Why are you looking for Q?"

"It doesn't matter. Have you seen her?"

"What? Yeah, I've seen her, but that was, like, thirty minutes ago. I have no idea where she is right now. Have you checked outside?"

You haven't. "I haven't. Thank you, Noah."

You release him and continue your way through the sea of moving bodies. It's suffocating. When you reach the door you don't take time to consider the possibility of someone standing outside and throw it open. Some jock and cheerio jump apart, and the guy looks like he's about to explode on you, but you're past them before he gets the chance. Front garden. Empty. Or, well, no Quinn.

You peek past the corner onto the street. No Quinn either. On to the back yard. You make your way back inside, ignoring the suffocating heat and barbaric dancing as best as you can. Someone places their hands on your hips, but you can't even find it in yourself to slap him and instead plough on. The back yard is empty.

In your stomach, the restless feeling grows. Are you just walking past each other all evening? Is such a thing even possible? You go back inside. You check the dancefloor again actively, and each individual couch. You go into the kitchen and the basement, where you behold the most horrifying of dry humping sessions, and move toward the stairs. These are literally blocked by a red and white DO NOT ENTER tape. This makes you pause.

Puck. You need Puck. You swivel around and dive back into the chaos. When you find him, you ask him if there's a possibility she's upstairs. He shakes his head at you.

"I don't think so," he says, "I didn't block the staircase for nothing, you know. People can fuck things up downstairs, I can handle one floor, but I don't want anyone going upstairs. It could be that she decided she wasn't 'anyone', but once one person ignores the warning more will follow, and I think she knows that as well."

His eyes flit to the staircase. "You can check if she's upstairs if you want, but if you do, make sure no-one follows you, okay?"

You move to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Noah. You're the best." He smirks at you.

"I know I am."

She's not upstairs. You've checked every bedroom, even Puck's, which felt weirdly invasive, and she wasn't in any of them. You need another drink.

* * *

This couch is so soft. You want one. Who made these?

As you're trying to find a label of any kind that can tell you who designed this thing or where Puck's family bought it, someone taps you on the shoulder. _Quinn!_ is the first thing that comes to mind, but when you shoot up to see who it is you're met by another blond. Brittany squats down in front of you.

"Did you find her yet?"

You shake your head in defeat. She sits down next to you.

"You know, you shouldn't take it so hard. Q works a little different from you and me. If you didn't find her yet, I don't think she wanted you to find her."

"Do you think she's angry with me Brittany?" She starts laughing. You're confused.

"Have you done something bad?"

You wreck your brain. "No."

"Then she's not mad at you." Brittany stands resolutely. "Just give her time. She'll find you." With a wink she walks away from you again. You are left sitting on the couch alone, pondering what the cheerio just told you. For some reason it's comforting, knowing that the only reason you haven't found her yet is because she didn't _want_ you to find her. Because that means she'll come around.

You sit back on the couch, and an uncomfortable pressure builds in your stomach. You need to go to the toilet.

When you reach the toilet, you decide otherwise. There is a line. Not just any line, but one that reaches into the hallway and almost back into the room where the party is happening. This is not okay. From the corner of your eyes you see the red and white in front of the staircase. Could you? You could. Quickly you look to your right, to your left. Safe. Subtly you disappear up the stairs.

When you enter the little hall where you know the bathroom is you feel relieved. Not necessarily because you really need to go that bad, but maybe even just to get out of the constant chaos of the party downstairs. The music here is dulled, it sounding more like someone placed their hands over your ears, making the noise feel like it's coming from very far away. You feel like you can breathe again. Already slumping in relief you open the door to the bathroom.

There's someone already in there.

"_Oh my god," _you exclaim as you instantly turn away from the door, closing it behind you in a swift motion. "I am _so_ sorry!"

Once the door is closed you remain frozen in place for a second, the reflex coming a little later than usual, and probably for the best. You lift your hands to feel your cheeks. Blazing. There's noting you want more in this moment than to just melt down on the spot and leak through the floor, dropping out down on the first floor again.

You contemplate apologizing again, weighing your options on whether that'd be an even remotely good idea. You didn't see much, just a bordeaux red dress and blond hair. Wait. Blond hair. Could it have been -?

Not quite daring to open the door again to have another look, you delve into your memory, trying to remember if it was her or not. She'd been hunched over, you remember now. Head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. She'd looked up when you'd opened the door. God, if only you could remember her _face_.

Then you remember. It _was_ Quinn. But it's not relief that rushes through your veins when you determine this. There is no happiness at having found her because she had been crying.

In a heartbeat you're at the door again swinging it open a second time. It's still unlocked. Who in the world leaves the door unlocked right after someone came busting in? Quinn does. And for some reason, she looks every bit as shocked to see you as she did the first time.

"Have you lost your mi -" But you ignore her. Swiftly you enter the little room, gladly realizing that there's plenty of room inside because the door opens inwards. Once the door is closed again you lean back against it, making sure it's really closed before setting demanding eyes on Quinn.

"Where have you been all evening? I've been looking all over f -" And you realize again.

You had momentarily forgotten about the tears on her cheeks. The red eyes. Only now you're actually face to face with her again do you notice them again. With a pang you realise that even now, she's still beautiful.

"I'm sorry," you start over again, "Are you okay?"

Her head jerks at you. "Am I okay? What were you thinking busting into a bathroom _twice_?"

You frown at her. "Once. The second time was no mistake. I saw you crying. Of course I came in."

She turns away from you. "I'm not crying."

"But you were."

Silence.

"Are you okay?" Upon hearing the uncertainty in your voice you see her shoulders slump, and she nods, still not meeting your eyes. She sits down on the toilet again, which you now see is closed fully. There had been nothing to be embarrassed about in the first place, not including the being caught crying part. You follow suit and slide yourself down against the doorframe, leaning your head against the cold tiles once you get down. They're cool and refreshing.

"I'm fine." She speaks in a weak voice. A defeated voice.

"You don't sound okay," you dare murmur, "What happened?"

She shakes her head dismissively. "Just some guys being assholes."

Your head rises at that, your shoulders setting back. "Who were they?"

Upon hearing your tone, she looks up to meet your eyes, holding them for only a fraction before dropping back to the floor again. It's not like what you've become used to. It feels like she's shutting you out.

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," you counter with passion, "Just give me their names, I'll -"

"You'll _what_, Rachel?" Her gaze, turned fiery, pins you agains the door. "You'll go to Finn, tell _him_ to tell _them_ to back off? Are you going to _save_ me, Rachel?" She is sneering at you.

At that moment you're shoved forward by the door opening. Damnit. People did see you going upstairs. You scramble to your feet, making swift eye contact with whoever is standing outside, yelling "You're not allowed to be upstairs, moron. Get out of here!" and slamming the door closed again, this time making sure to properly lock it. When you turn around, Quinn is looking at you, and something in her eyes is scoffing at you. Not long after, an actual scoff follows.

"I don't want you to save me Rachel. I don't want you to protect me either. I can handle things like this, it's nothing compared to what I've been through."

"So you'll just shut out everyone who's trying to help, just to prove to yourself that you can handle it?" You can't believe this. There is nothing you can think of that would explain this sudden behavior, but you're damn well not going to sit back and take it. She stares back at you with just as much fire in her eyes.

"I _can_ handle this, and believe it or not, I don't even _want_ your help, Rachel."

You are thoroughly offended, taking a step forward thoughtlessly. "Then how did we even come here, huh, Quinn? Tell me. Why is it you decided it wasn't fun to torture me anymore, and took it so far even as to become my friend. Or was this all just another big mistake?" Your glare is unforgiving. It demands answers.

She rises now as well, a certain force emanating from her as she does so. You back up against the door again, faster than you'd expected, because the close proximity her action had put you in had sent you leaping for safety before your brain had even caught up with what was happening. You had momentarily forgotten about the alcohol in your system, but as soon as you hit the door the world comes to a stop and starts turning the other way. You place a hand against the tiles to steady yourself.

"Of course it wasn't a mistake." The word sizzles on her tongue, coating it in as much distaste as she can. "I meant to befriend you. But that's just it. I don't want you to be my hero. I don't want you to save me. That would put you above me."

You seethe. The alcohol just cheering on that dragon in your chest.

"That would put me _above_ _you?_ Is that the problem here, Quinn? You don't want to degrade yourself?" Her jaw sets and lowers as she rolls her eyes in a way that tells you she's hanging on to her self-restraint by a thread.

_"No!_ No, that's not what I meant! I wanted to be your _equal_, Rachel. Not someone for you to save. I don't want, I don't _need_ saving, and _especially_ not from you." Her eyes lock on yours, and for the first time, you see the cracks. You watch the mask protest, crack and crumble, just a little bit, but it's enough for you to see past it.

Desire.

And just like that it's gone, the cracks mended, the mask firmly back in place. But as you look at her you see she knows you saw. Just a flash of it, no more than a whisper, but it's there.

It's there and it's enough.

You don't breathe, you don't move, but inside, your dragon has discovered it can spit fire.

"I should go." Her voice, however quiet, shakes you out of your reverie and before you know it, the cage is molten down, and your forehead is against her jaw, breath hot against her neck. There is a sturdy cold surface underneath your right palm, and a soft warm one against your left. Your head is spinning, your eyes unable to focus.

One hand is on your shoulder, another around your wrist. She presses herself into the wall behind her, you feel her muscles tense. Breath washes past your cheek. You look down. Your hand lays on her stomach, tips of your fingers under the waistband. You have pulled up her dress as you pinned her against the wall and now you can feel the fabric of her underwear against the tips of your fingers. Vision blurs and breath hitches.

She moves. Accidentally, you slide lower. Nails in your shoulder and wrist, but there is nothing tugging you back. You suppress a moan. She's everywhere. Your senses are on overload. You feel her under your palm and against your forehead. Wherever you look, there is Quinn. You hear her shallow breath right next to your ear, smell the ocean emanating from her skin. Your nose brushes the column of her neck. You can practically tas-

_NO._ You forbid yourself.

Closing you eyes, you try to concentrate on yourself. Try to breathe. Calm down. Rebuild the cage. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Muscles shiver against your palm, and when you breathe in you almost collapse.

You can smell her.

The dragon spits fire. You lose.

When you move lower, she gasps. Her shoulders pull up and her cheek presses against the side of your head. The hand that is around your wrist twitches, but does nothing more. You have lost to yourself but conquered Quinn. At the first hint of wetness your mouth drops open and you feel like you can't breathe. You take a leap of faith.

Without giving yourself time to think it over you reach down and draw a single line from the heat source up, slowly, torturously. Her body twitches. She whimpers. Your eyes roll back. With more confidence this time, you dip down again, almost moaning in approval when you feel her take a sharp breath as you do, releasing it quietly again in a shivering stream. The hand around your wrist is now resting near your elbow.

You take your time touching her. She breathes in the rhythm you set. You revel in it. Moving is easy, your fingers meeting no resistance whatsoever. You close your eyes and listen to her, noting how her breath hitches when you draw up slow and another whimper escapes her when you circle the sensitive nub at the end of the road your fingers take.

Little by little, you feel yourself thriving on her reactions. You move so that she may have pleasure, drawing out more small sounds as you go. Her head drops forward when you swipe her more deliberately than before. Both her hands are on your shoulders now, your faces the same height. You feel her cheekbone rest in the hollow of your temple, and bury your face in her neck to avoid kissing her. She lowers her head to your shoulder instead.

You change tactics, focusing solely on her clit now. Her hips jerk against you. You force them back against the wall with your own. Her nails dig into the back of your shoulders, making you arch up against her, putting more pressure on her as you do. Her mouth falls open. She presses her face into your neck, her lips brushing and breath washing over it. You shiver into her.

Her hands slide lower on your back, nails still lightly digging, but it feels like she's pulling you closer more than anything. Your hand twitches, sending her jerking again. This time too you force her back with your hips. At the action, a jolt of pleasure shoots through your core and you lose yourself a bit more.

She is breathing heavily against your throat, the whimpers coming more and more often now, spurring you on even more. You pick up your pace, unable to stop your movements from growing slightly frantic.

All the time, you never enter her. Just like with kissing, it feels like doing so would cross some severe boundaries. Not that you're sure it even matters at this point. But even when she's mewling into the crook of your neck and you can see tiny beads of sweat form on her skin, there is an invisible force stopping you from doing so.

Instead, you make up for it with constant stimulation, your fingers altering between long stokes and sudden flicks, easy circles and deliberate pressure. With every move, you can feel her building up. Literally. Every time you touch her, something in her posture changes.

Her back arches a bit more, her face inches up your throat, hands pressing into you a little more forcefully as you slowly guide her to the edge. You can feel her pressure building, her breaths become more shallow, whimpers change in pitch, and then they don't. Air rushes past your neck as she inhales once more and you press yourself against her as fully as you can, lifting your face from the hollow of her neck until your upper lip brushes the shell of her ear.

For a second, everything is in a state of utter anticipation, of equilibrium, a bubble on the verge of popping. In this moment, the world stands still. Her lips on your shoulder.

_"Come for me."_

And she does. A shiver runs through her, her nails dragging down your back, her back arching. Her open mouth closes over the trapezius muscle connecting your neck with your shoulder and your feel her teeth as she muffles her moan. It will bruise. Your eyes roll back into their sockets. You can feel her pulsing against your fingertips. It's the most extraordinary sensation you've ever experienced.

For an undetermined period of time, everything in the room crackles with tension. Neither of you breathe, every muscle pulled taut. Her teeth and nails feel harsh against your skin, and they radiate delicious tingles all over.

Then you feel her hands lose their grip. Her jaw slacks and you shift a leg between hers to hold her up as she quite literally collapses into you. You remove your hand from her and wipe it before wrapping it around her waist.

For a moment you're unsure what to do with the limp girl in your arms. You check whether she can stand. She can, but barely. Barely will do. Carefully, you guide her across the hall into Puck's bedroom and lay her down on the bed. She looks absolutely spent.

It is only then that you realize what just happened.

A wave of panic washes over you, hitting you in the gut like a sack of potatoes. This cannot be happening, this _cannot be happening_. As you look at the girl on the bed, the girl you just _defiled_, there is only one thought running through your mind.

_I have to get out of here._

You are completely sober as you swiftly make your way down the stairs. Music comes through again. You had completely forgotten about the party. This time, when you disappear in the crowd, it is no longer pressing. Instead, you feel comforted by the sense of invisibility it gives you. You spot Kurt standing next to a table full of cups you certainly hope are filled and start making your way over to them.

After checking the cups and concluding they are filled, you take one and stand next to Kurt, looking over the heads of people on the dancefloor. You down the contents of your cup in one go, glad it's more of the drink Artie had given you at the beginning of the party. Kurt glances over at you before turning his gaze toward the party again.

"Where have you been?"

The opportunity is perfect. You purse your lips and take a deep breath through your nose.

"I just did Quinn Fabray," you state. As the words leave you, you feel strangely empty. Kurt looks at you not understanding.

"What do you mean you did Quinn Fabray?" You merely lift your left hand for him to see before quickly pulling it down when you realise. Her scent is still on it. Your eyes close on their own accord and you swallow. Kurt just looks at you, frowns, shakes his head, switches his gaze from your hand to your face and back a couple of times before you feel realisation dawn on him.

"You just _WHAT?"_

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so this will be the only time I will actually beg you on my knees to please review because this was my first time writing actual smut and the nerves are killing me. Tell me what was good, what I could do better because badly written smut is just the worst and I _really_ don't want to be one of those people that write bad smut. So please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?**


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